The Cerinian Earth
by Order and Chaos - Qui Iudicant
Summary: A simple rescue mission unwittingly turns into the means for ultimate salvation and reconciliation for three races: the Cerinian natives; the human outworlders; and the fallen Mage-Lords. (#1 of the Armageddon Chronicles)
1. Journey through Jungle

A/N: Well, after a billion edits, rewrites, revisions, etc, this damn chapter finally meets my expectations. Updates for this will not be frequent, so be advised. Anyway, 'nough of my talking, foward on!

One little note, I'd like to thank Wolfsalvo for beta-reading a portion of this.

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_**Journey through Jungle**_

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_**All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. **_

_I hate the jungle. _Theran thought as he cut through yet another dense cluster of ferns with his machete. _And I hate Tristan for getting himself caught down here in the hot, blistering South._

The "hot, blistering South" was the south of the Panaemia Continent; all wetlands, jungle, and rainforest complete with high mountain ranges dotting its northernmost boundary, and plateaus for the interior. Rivers, lakes, and seas marked the southern and south-western lands of the South, and from there, unbroken for miles, was the broad, blue ocean; to the east were inhospitable deserts. Panaemia was just the name humanity had given the huge continent they had landed on some couple hundred years ago. It may have another name given to it by the natives, but humanity didn't care one way or another. How or why they landed was a mystery to Theran. Not that he cared; he was a Ranger, not a historian.

He paused for a moment to hack down a tangle of thorny vines baring his way then moved onwards. Brightly colored jungle birds rose in a whirling swarm of feathers as he brushed past a low-hanging branch. As they vanished up into the canopy, Theran stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat of his brow. He was a rugged man in his twenties, tanned from being in the outdoors. As a Ranger the outdoors and all of the surprises it brings were to be expected. No matter if it was rain, hail, fog, snow, or flood he was prepared for the worst that Nature can throw at him. What he was not prepared for was what Man could throw at him. He climbed over a fallen log, covered in moss and lichen, his blade flashing in the sunlight that occasionally pierced the canopy as he lashed away at blockading vegetation.

**_~Well, Tristan had a very good reason for going down South, Theran. The Elders were very specific of where he was when they rounded you up to go after him~ _**A snide voice in the back of his mind replied.

_Shut up, Sparky, _he retorted, bending over to get through a natural cross brace of branches.

Sparky, that annoying little bastard of a mind voice. Everyone occasionally talked to themselves; either to solve a problem or just to hear themselves think. Even Theran did so a couple of times. But one day, a little bright "spark" spoke back, to his amazement and irritation once the initial shock was over. Ever since then, he had mockingly called it "Sparky", and, to his great annoyance, "Sparky" didn't seem to take any offence. In fact, it did nothing whatsoever about it – and that, if possible, was even more annoying. Another name for it was A Voice with a Mind of Its Own, because nothing that he did could banish it from his mind. And it didn't help one bit that "Sparky" was one of the "Guardians", the mental watchers and protectors of the human mind, and was quite proud in reminding him at every possible moment when Theran wished it was gone – permanently!

**_~Very well, as long as you focus on your task at hand instead of complaining about whatever Tristan did that got you sent on this rescue mission~ _**Sparky replied, quite at ease in its corner of Theran's mind; even though Theran couldn't "see" it, he knew it was there, doing whatever a talkative Guardian (come to think of it, it was the only Guardian that talked) did when not speaking to him.

_If you don't shut up, Sparky, I'll order the rest of your buds to kick you out! _Theran thought furiously as he slashed with unwanted venom at a perfectly harmless, low-hanging plant in his way.

All he got for his threat was a laugh, **_~As if! You know fully well as I do that none of the Guardians will obey you consciously – except in times of great stress, and this hardly counts~_**

_If you do _not _shut the hell up, I'll – _what Theran was about to say, he did not complete it because a very large, very prickly plant got him full in the face, reminding him to keep his attention on the path that only a Ranger could see, and not on a pointless argument.

Chuckling, Sparky replied, **_~Careful of what you say; you might get what you wish for, especially when you are on the run from those, um, what was your name for them?~_**

"Take _that _you son-of-a-bitch!" Theran vented his frustration upon the plant as he indiscriminately whacked away at the woody trunk; after it was thoroughly in pieces, he went on. _Oh just leave me the hell alone! _He snapped back, irritable at everything; his irritation at Tristan's stupidity, irritation at Sparky, irritation at the plant, irritation at everything.

**_~You started it,~_**

_Me? All I did was think a perfectly harmless thought about Tristan's utter stupidity at his being captured, then you butted in saying that he had a reason to be down here. As if I didn't already know!_

**_~My apologies, O Master of Everything,~ _**Sparky was trying to provoke him again, and Theran was not going to take the bait. He remained silent, growling under his breath as he continued his torturous way onward.

Most of the South was not at all wild land; most of it was cultivated and tamed by man. But that was the problem, the source of his irritation against Tristan for getting caught down here. Humans did not live down here; they never have in all of time since humanity had landed here. Another species of man was already here, and they weren't human.

Theran paused by a running stream to refill his two water canteens. He had plenty of water already, but he never wanted to be without water in this hot climate; dehydration was all too real in this heat. And this stream was perfect, because it was swiftly moving and all impurities would have been long gone. As he filled the plastic containers, he kept his eyes and ears alert for any unnatural silences in the forest which would mean either an enemy was tracking him or one of the larger creatures was on the prowl. Nothing. That was good. The forest was filled with the sounds of undisturbed nature; birds chirping, insects buzzing, and animal calls echoing through the trees. After waiting in silence, he got to his feet and continued onwards.

**_~There wouldn't have been an enemy, otherwise I would have warned you,~_**

For all of its faults, there was at least one thing that Sparky did useful, and that was being a mental radar. No matter how far away something was, if it had a mind however rudiment, Sparky would know and tell Theran about it. Or rather, it would tell him at the last, possible moment when it was impossible to avoid it. Theran preferred not to rely on Sparky because Sparky was nothing more than trouble in his opinion – but sometimes it did help save his skin more than once, to which Theran was grudgingly grateful.

_Well thanks for nothing._

**_~Touchy, are we?~_**

Yet again, Sparky was trying to annoy him. Often he wondered why it did so; it was distracting and annoying to be thinking all of the time, especially if you are a man of action. But whatever the reason, Theran refused to budge, and Sparky 'fell' silent again; its mental presence fading until there was only a vague feeling of its presence.

Yet even as he barreled towards his goal, he could take his mind off it and watch the surroundings. That was what he liked about being a Ranger; you might never know where your patrol would lead you. Sometimes it takes you high up in the mountains; at others, in the forest or the plains. Sometimes, even by the ocean, though it was pointless to patrol there. None of the aliens – so far as he knew – knew how to use a boat. But then, his only experience with them was either hiding or running from them – mostly the former, and the latter only when necessary.

The jungle, for all of its faults, could be beautiful when viewed with the right eyes: towering trees stretching all the way into the canopy; thick clusters of bushes crowding around streams; vines hanging down from the heights; flowers that were always blooming down here in the hot, humid south, filling the air with a sweet fragrance; and, of course, the animals. Not that he saw them often, but they were there, silent and waiting until the human intruder was past.

Several hours later, Sparky broke into his thoughts, **_~We are almost at Jidxumo – just mile or two ahead and we'll be overlooking the Valley.~_**

Theran said nothing, only wielded his machete all the more harder, partly because it was dull, and partly because he wanted to be out of this jungle where bugs and flies were everywhere.

Several minutes later and much swinging of his blade, he was standing before a small clearing carved from between two large rock-faces, possibly granite from the color. The ground had only a mossy kind of growth underfoot with a few vines growing up the rocky walls. Theran looked around, but saw nothing. He grunted and started moving.

_You were saying? I don't see any valley around here. _He demanded, as he walked through the clearing and into more jungle.

**_~I am a telepath, not a satellite,~ _**Sparky replied defensively, **_~I know, however, that Jidxumo is not far from here, because I can sense many thousands of sapient minds, not counting the sentient ones~_**

Not far from here was an understatement, because in the very next moment, Theran had sliced through some broad leaves, and suddenly was standing on a high cliff into open daylight. He squinted against the bright sun, his eyes accustomed to semi-darkness and dim, green light of the jungle.

**_~Ahem?~_**

_Yes, fine, sorry. _In truth, Theran was glad that he was here and not in the jungle – but that was only for a moment. Now he wished he was still in the jungle, battling through the tough vegetation.

Outlined against the azure sky, was the city, Jidxumo. Home of the second most powerful race other than humanity, the Cerinians, natives and original inhabitants of the world humans had once called Earth.

Sitting like a many jeweled, many pointed crown upon a series of hills, Jidxumo was larger than anything he had ever seen before in his life – not even the ruins of old Olympus could compare to it in size. Hundreds upon thousands of towers arched over the city – from the walls, from the interior city, from the citadel sitting on the largest hill of all, more like a mountain than a hill – sending their pointed spires high into the air, gleaming brightly, reflecting the sunlight. A silvery moat, made tiny by the distance, snaked its way before the walls, baring unwanted entrances. Three large bridges stretched out over the moat from shore to the walls – the only way in or out unless you wanted to swim or if you had wings.

But that was not the cause for his distress – it was the place itself. For Jidxumo was the center of the Southern Cerinian people, the most powerful adversary to the people of Atlantis. If Tristan was in _there _then there was almost no hope of getting in there. None at all. Unless he had an army behind him, it was impossible otherwise.

**_~If you are going to stop gawking like an idiot and get your butt down there, you'll be one step closer to getting him out of there safely. Nothing will hinder you if you start now!~_**

_Hey, Sparky, do you know what that place is? It is the capital of the South, home to the most powerful faction of the furries! There is no way in hell I'm going to go there in broad daylight!_

**_~Remember the old saying? 'If you can't beat 'em, join 'em'. Just waltz on down there with the tools you have and walk right in there as one of them and no one would be any wiser. And another thing, stop calling them 'furry'!~_**

Theran snorted, both at the admonition and going down there. Sparky had no idea. Furry noses were far more sensitive than human noses, and would pick up his scent a mile off if he walked into the city. He would stick out like a dog among cats.

**_~Theran, by tools, I mean you to use the holoshroud, and the fake scent and you'll get in there in no time~_**

_Do you have to state the obvious?_

**_~Certainly; since you didn't seem to have thought of it~_**

_Oh shut up, I'm going, I'm going._

Theran took one more glance at the imposing city, turned and started walking on his right down a little path he had seen out of the corner of his eye, towards a road leading into the valley. Soon his boots were tramping on hard-packed dirt instead of the mossy cliff. He was halfway down to the road before he remembered something.

_Sparky, what of their telepathy?_

**_~What the hell do you think your shields and Guardians are for, damn it! Get the hell down there before I force you to!~_**

_Shut up._

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Kurisutaru glanced behind the cart she was riding in. Stretching behind her were ten other wagons, loaded with produce from the fields and the waters of her home village, and a special kind of crystal found in the nearby hills. Pulling the four-wheeled wagons were slow-moving equine runners, those of the kind used in plowing fields, not the swift messenger-breeds. For a moment, she thought she heard something moving in the leaves. But the only sounds she heard were the rumbling of cart wheels, the plodding footsteps of the runners, and the occasional crack of a whip. She dismissed it with a shake of her head.

Just then, a little animal broke from its cover and ran across the road, darting in and out of the hooves of the equines pulling the convoy, to the bushes lining the other side. Then it was gone, vanished into the foliage.

She returned her attention to the front, keeping an eye on the brown furred vulpine sitting before her. The surrounding forest was beautiful in the bright sun, green leaves glowing with green light from the warm rays. Bushes lined the roadside, their multicolored blossoms filling the air with a sweet fragrance. Little black-and-yellow fliers were flitting from flower to flower, collecting the nectar that would soon be made into honey. She licked her lips just thinking about the golden syrup, smiling slightly.

But for all that she liked honey, Krystal was crazy about it, often empting their supply before the week was out. But Randorn, their godfather, usually kept her in check. He had a special place for it that only he knew – but sometimes Krystal would find it to a predictable outcome. How could she manage to unstick her jaws and clean that spotless blue fur was beyond Kurisutaru.

Her own yellow fur was the exact shade of the delicious honey, glinting with white highlights when the sun shone directly on her. Aside from that, the only other color was white, most prominently on her tail and face. Her eyes were a light cornflower blue, eyes that could see through every deception, as was often the case with her younger sister.

It was a long group of carts that drove on this road, taking both produce to the market at Jidxumo and attend the Festival held there. What the Festival was supposed to mean was not entirely clear to her, but it had to be very important, for it was held once every twelve Seasons. The number twelve held some significance, but it was lost on her, being from a far-off village on the Western Sea. Walking beside the runner-drawn carts, making sure the beasts kept moving forward, were a number of men and women, all strong fishers or farmers who had come along for this once in a lifetime opportunity.

There were one or two that she knew faintly that worked in the fields, but for the most part, all of her friends were back in the village, kept back home to work on the fields. Most of them had never been to Jidxumo in their lives, and before she had left had badgered her to tell every single detail that she could remember when the convoy returned. She also noticed, with faint pride, that one or two of the boys were looking at her out of the corner of their eyes. Even though they tried to hide it, their eyes gave them away whenever her gaze drifted in their direction; the eyes would suddenly revert forward or back to tending the runners, but once she looked away in another direction, they would be gazing at her again.

She knew that her fine form was the cause of the attraction, but she wondered what the assistant to a Healer would be to either of them. She didn't know of a single boy who was interested in the herbs Randorn used; not one. Still, she thought, it is nice to be admired. Krystal, fortunately, was only fifteen and had not yet discovered boys, but from the way she was growing, it wouldn't be too long. But thankfully she was far too interested in exploring to hang round boys, unlike Kurisutaru who could never leave Randorn's side as Healers' assistant. But he knew how to make Krystal's explorations useful, and set her to work in gathering herbs for his medicines whenever she went out into the forest or the surrounding hills, or by the beach.

"What is going through your pretty head, my dear?"

She almost jumped, coming out of her thoughts, but it was only Randorn, smiling at her as if he knew what she was thinking. He probably did. She waved towards the walkers, who suddenly had become quite interested in looking at the forest.

Randorn nodded slightly; he was always telling her to be careful of who to choose when the time came. She wondered whether he had been young once, but for as long as she could remember he had always looked venerable and old.

"Remember, choose wisely when the time comes."

She sighed, and replied, "Yes, father."

He reached over and patted her on the shoulder, "Do not worry, Kurisutaru. I understand." He then turned and resumed his meditation of the road; almost simultaneously, the youngsters returned to watching her. She giggled slightly. Randorn did not give any indication that he had heard but the slight bowing of his head meant that he knew what was going on behind his back.

Kurisutaru looked over to the side of the road, into the green forest that had run alongside them for the past ten miles, wondering where Krystal had gotten herself off to this time. Not that she could get lost, but that she had an irritating habit of not showing up when called for.

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Krystal, at that moment, was swinging from tree to tree like a young monkey, heedless of what her elder 'sister' thought of. Adventure was in her blood and she wanted to go exploring at every possible moment whenever free from her duties. She reached out an arm as she swung and grabbed a vine, let go with her other arm, and went swinging through the air towards another vine.

The air whistled through her ears as she caught hold and went flying up into the air like a blue-colored bird. She let go and landed on a branch. She paused and looked around, going silent like a deer. Birds chattered, and insects buzzed, filling the forest with the sounds of nature. She took a deep breath, rejoicing in the freedom from civilization. That was why she liked disappearing for hours on end, away from Kurisutaru and Randorn; it was because the sense of being free from everything compelled her to go out into the world, far away from the village, ranging as far to the Colored Caves alongside the beach far into the North – dangerously close to human territory. But she was in no danger as long as she didn't cross the mountains.

Suddenly, the sounds of something moving through the jungle caused her to be alert: from the noise, someone was cutting through the vegetation, frightening the birds to silence. Her ears pointed in its direction; something large was coming, and whatever it was, it did not bother disguising its presence.

She leapt into the air and onto another branch; she took off running along the moss-covered limb, moving like a jungle creature herself instead of a rebellious Cerinian adolescent. The branch curved downwards suddenly, and she went sliding along, arms thrown out to keep her balance, tail moving to keep from slipping. It angled up, and she shot up into the air, and grabbing a vine, swung through the silent trees. Within seconds, she landed on a branch, not too far off from the source of the disturbance. She crept along, until right over the path where the creature would pass underneath.

She waited, and then jumped down, landing on top of a large four-limbed animal.

An explosion of curses filled the air as the animal reached up an arm to pull her off. She gamely held on, extending both sets of claws into the fur of the large animal. But then something got her by the scruff of her neck and whipped her off as if she were nothing. Krystal landed on the ground hard, on her back, but she quickly got back to her feet, ready to fight. To her surprise, standing before her was a blue-furred vulpine, fur on end, teeth bared and claws extended, one hand clutching a short bladed knife.

"Whoa, whoa, sorry mister." She backed up holding her hands palms upward in the sign of peace.

"What was the idea of jumping me like that, you an – girl!" the vulpine snarled with a strange accent. Krystal looked at him, eyes narrowed; was there something he had said before that cover-up?

"I thought you were a panther," She explained, watching the blade in the stranger's hand.

His eyes widened in surprise, "A panther?" From his tone, it sounded as if he didn't believe her. But then, most people didn't.

"Yes, I do like to tangle with them, show them that I can lick 'em any time I want," she replied with a bit of pride. "Why were you in the forest, mister?" she asked.

He hesitated for a moment, as if deciding, then said, "On my way to Jidxumo."

"Why not take the road?" she asked, pointing somewhere behind her, "It's faster."

He countered swiftly, "Why were you in the forest, instead of on the road?"

"Err," she shifted from side to side, looking down, "Err, I can't tell you that," Randorn might have sent him to go look for her, him obviously being a woodsmen.

The stranger smiled, then having noticed her looking at his blade, sheathed it (much to her relief) and replied, "Well, keep your secrets; I'll keep mine."

Krystal nodded, unsure whether he was playing a game with her or not. To cover up her confusion, she took in his appearance. Like most foresters, he was dressed in splotched leggings and tunic, all long-sleeved to keep out the blood-suckers, and carried a satchel on his back. Aside from the short straight-bladed knife he carried, there was a small staff sticking out from his pack; undoubtedly he used it to keep his balance in the more trickery parts of the jungle. Unlike most foresters, he was wearing an odd kind of necklace that had nothing set in it except a small dull stone.

The stranger noticed her looking at him and said hurriedly, "You know why not you take me to the road, because I am a bit lost."

"You? A bit lost? You are a forester are you not? You couldn't possibly be lost in the forest!"

He grinned a bit sheepishly, "I come from the north, and this is my first time down here,"

Krystal looked, if possible, even more confused, "You don't mean to say that you've been in the forest all this time?"

He nodded. "Better believe it. I am a bit shy around large groups,"

"But then why go to Jidxumo? It is the most populous place in all of Cerinia!"

The stranger coughed, and said, "That I can't tell you; I only need a way to get there quickly."

Krystal looked at the stranger intently. There was something she could not quite place about him; something odd. Curiously, she extended her telepathic mind ever so slightly towards his. Being telepaths, Cerinians could detect even the slightest 'touch' of another mind. According to the ethics every kit learned as they learned to control their abilities, it was considered very, very rude to peek in someone else's mind, even if it was someone you hated passionately; in effect, it was like kicking down the door to someone's home and walking on in. And so, according to the ethics (and common sense, as Cerinians had a two-fold innante defense that could, and did, repell intruders), you had to be known to the person whose mind you're entering. But there were ways around that: it was sort've akin to sneaking into an enemy camp. There were some things you can do, and some things you cannot.

Being a naturally curious kit (something which her sister complained of bitterly) she had learned to keep a tight rein on her abilities, and "shrink" herself down to the point of near "invisibility." But there were drawbacks to that, as it greatly drained her of energy, and if caught, there would be a terrible punishment in store for her - which mostly was sickness or unconsciousness. And she could not "see" thoughts like she could see her own; for example, she could not access memories, even short-term memories of what the person had done a mere few seconds ago. But what she could do was learn their general intentions were, not specific ones. General intentions were of the sort that "floated" on the top of the mind, and so would be such things like going to the market or to the local Healer; specific ones were such things as what they were buying in said market or why they went to the Healer; those were "hidden" and could not ever, in any circumstance, be accessed.

She allowed herself to go in a light trance, still watching the stranger but now she could "see" a golden egg-shaped sphere enveloping the forester. She shrank down herself into a little tendril of thought, and projected it as if she were "talking" to him. Telepathy, the act of "speaking" into another's mind, was not invasive, as the projector was sending images and words to the receiver; but the receiver could choose to ignore it or accept it. But sending a probe, as she was doing, was invasive.

Krystal, the thought-tendril, reached the surface of that aura and gently, so gently that no one but a skilled telepath could detect it, began to 'ooze' inside it.

Just as she touched it, the stranger's aura flared up to the brightness of the sun and her thought-tendril was violently hurled "out" from his mind as thousands of lights swarmed her and "chased" her all the way back to her own mind. Such was the expulsion that she stumbled backwards and tripped, landing hard on the ground.

The stranger started forward, hand extended, "Hey, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, just a bit woozy, that's all." She got shakily back to her feet, still a little unsteady from the expulsion. She looked at him warily; he did not look like he had noticed her intrusion into his mind at all. She shook her head, bewildered by his lack of reaction. "I'll take you to the road; my father must be wondering where I am now." She said, to cover up her confusion.

"If he asks anything, I'll say that I found you." He replied, falling into step behind her.

She snorted; "It was I that found you! I fell on you!"

"Whatever then,"

In no time at all they had reached the road; Krystal realized that she'd been only half a mile from it. And not too far off behind the spot where they came out of was the dust-cloud of the caravan. The forester looked down the road, towards the dust-cloud: "Is that where your father is?"

She nodded. The forester sat down, and began fiddling with a bit of wood. They stayed there until the long line of carts drew level with them and then Krystal got up and went to the foremost cart where an elderly vulpine and a golden vixen sat, both of them looking at her with frowns of disapproval.

"So, this is where you've gone off to, hmm?" Randorn asked her as she climbed up next to him. "Bothering that young man there?" He indicated the forester who had gotten up and joined walking with the rest of them; strangely, he kept well off to the side.

"Ah, no, I wasn't bothering him," she replied, keeping her head down; then she looked up, startled. "I never asked his name!"

"It is too late for that now, child. Maybe next time." Randorn gently said, as she turned to look for the forester; he had moved back into the press, until he was towards the back. "By the by, how did you meet him?"

"I jumped him, thinking he was a panther." She answered absently mindedly, still looking for him; then realizing what she had said, clapped a hand over her mouth. Randorn shook his head, resigned to his recalcitrant goddaughter's ways.

However, the other vixen, who had kept silent until now, burst out with fury, "Krystal! I am ashamed of you! Have you no respect for other people?"

"Kurisutaru, goodness gracious, why do you have to act as my mother?"

"I have every right to," Kurisutaru responded self-righteously "you disappearing every other day, never showing up when needed, _or_ called for!"

"Now, now, Kurisutaru, Krystal is only fifteen; remember, you too were a handful at that age, even more so than Krystal." Randorn said, "Now keep your reprimanding to yourself; I am both your father, and will administer discipline when I feel that you two need it. Krystal will be dismissed again, but," here he turned to Krystal, "you will stay with me during our time in Jidxumo."

"Aww, father!"

"Don't you "aww father" me, Krystal, you need to control yourself. But before we leave," he concluded, "I'll grant you some time to roam the city, provided you are in Kurisutaru's company."

Now it was Kurisutaru's turn to look chagrined, but she knew better than to argue. She resigned herself to her eventual fate with dignity.

Krystal smiled a bit at this as she turned to face the road; they rounded a bend, and Jidxumo filled the skies before them, gleaming brightly in the sunlight. Randorn said to them, "Children, this is Jidxumo."

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**_~You know, for someone who dislikes the Cerinians, you did pretty well when you actually met one for the first time, despite the rather unusual circumstances of your meeting~_**

_If you haven't been holding me back, I'd have been wearing that skin instead of this holoshroud._

Trailing behind the caravan was a dust-covered vulpine with burrs sticking everywhere on him. The others had accepted him without question, him being a fellow traveler heading for the same goal they were to. His story of being a forester from the mountains had withstood scrutiny, and now he kept well back in case any of them wanted to test his story. For the most part he was ignored, and that suited him perfectly.

**_~I knew you meant that in jest, for if you did, your mission would be off~_**

_Thank you for pointing out the obvious; my buddy would've stayed in there 'til doomsday._

**_~I couldn't have said it better than myself~_**

By a curious trick of the light, the holoshroud warped the light around him, hiding his real self and replaced it with an image of a Cerinian, effectively hiding his human form. There was another function that it did that he couldn't quite understand, and that was that the device somehow made parts of his form, such as the tail, solid so that it was "real", in a matter of speaking. When he touched it, he could "feel" the sensations as if it were really a part of his body. Also, thanks to this strange technology, his hearing, eyesight, and smell were also increased to that of the Cerinians. Any other oddities were also covered. How the thing worked, he had no idea and didn't want to know anyway.

The disguise was perfect in every way except that it didn't produce any Cerinian scent to hide his own natural scent, so, before he went traipsing on down to the road, he had taken a quick dunk in a pool (fortunately, far enough away from that kit) to wash off all scent, then opened a flash and upended half of it over him, then swallowed the rest. Now he was, to all appearances, a Cerinian, and was none too pleased by it.

If Theran had any other choice about it, he would have waited until dark, then sneak into Jidxumo, find out where Tristan was (how he would do that, he wasn't sure), then get both him and Tristan out of there with no one being any the wiser. But there was one big obstacle in his way: the city itself.

He had no experience in navigating a city before: Atlantis didn't count, for it was underground. Even though he had memorized a map of the city beforehand, it was four decades old and things can change in that timeframe. Also, on top of that, he had no idea of the layout of the citadel.

**_~Don't you worry, I'll help to the best of my abilities, for it is within my interests to keep you safe, as I share the same body with you too~_**

Sharing the same body, ha! Sparky was just a talkative Guardian with nothing better to do than to annoy him, not a separate sapient being.

**_~If that is the case, then why is one of my names "Voice with a Mind Of its Own?"~_**

_That was a rhetorical question, Sparky. _Though he did wonder, occasionally, if Sparky was just an over-reactive figment of his imagination, or a separate entity. But it was of no concern, not now.

The sun shone into his eyes now, forcing him to cover them with a hand; it was getting towards evening, and if this caravan got into the walls before nightfall, then it'd be all the easier; if not, he can always sneak away and slip over the walls. The dust stung his eyes, but he reminded himself firmly that he didn't want to be seen, and that was all that kept him from moving towards the front, away from the road-dust. Besides, that kit who fell on him was there, sitting with her father. He didn't want a conversation with him, or her, or anyone else for that matter.

**_~By the way, did you know she tried to read your mind?~_**

Theran was so shocked that he almost halted in mid-step; he recovered enough to keep on putting the next foot forward. _What did she do?_

**_~As you stood there, glaring at her as if she were the devil himself, she sent out a little mind-probe out towards your mind. Unfortunately for her, she got to the shields instead, and that alerted us to her presence~ _**Sparky paused, as if thinking, **_~Or rather, it alerted the rest of my buds: I had already seen her. So the moment she touched the shields, we swarmed the little probe, destroyed it, and threw her out before you can say 'Jack Robinson' or something like that~_**

Theran growled; some of the Cerinians turned to look back at him questioningly. He shook his head and they turned back, ignoring him as before.

**_~However, before you go charging up to the front and mauling her, we gave her enough of a shock that she won't be trying that again. Luckily, for her, she was a complete amateur by my standards and got off rather lightly, for she meant no harm whatsoever, being a curious kit and all. Had she been hostile, there would have been a headache to go with the expulsion, not to mention some physical side-effects, such as temporary blindness, lightheadedness, loss of balance, etc~_**

_Well that is a relief, _Theran replied, avoiding eye-contact with any of the Cerinians that looked back at him. Had he'd been looking up, he would have seen some of the females giving him a second glance. Sparky, of course, had already seen it and snickered. Naturally, when Theran questioned it about that, it had made no reply. After a time of slow going, Sparky spoke again:

**_~Jidxumo is right around the bend in this road, so be prepared~_**

However, that warning was unnecessary. He had been making his way towards the part of the road that led into the Valley, and up into the city; the tangle with the kit had been a minor distraction, but it had given him an opportunity to blend in with the group of Cerinians that she was a part of. _Sparky, why the warning?_

**_~Because if the city had looked big from the cliff, this will awe you~_**

Theran had no rejoinder, because in the next moment, the caravan had turned the corner and the vast city of marble and stone towers filled the sky before them. Theran paused for a moment to look up at it, and then he continued on.

The hard part had just begun.

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A/N: (8/21/13 update): Finished the last of the updates for _Journey through Jungle_.  
Finished last update on the date 9/02/13. Cleared up the issue of telepathy as seen from Krystal's POV.  
Decided to outline Sparky's lines in black to differentiate between him and other telepathists. Date 9/08/13


	2. On the Road

A/N: Well, one thing I have to say about this chapter is that about a fourth of the way in (approximately 2K words) I found the canal I dug for the flow of the story overfilling itself and the story-flood created a riverbed to flow down instead! I literally shot off on writing this thing (about 5K words on Saturday {yesterday to you} for goodness sake!) and now my head is having a headache. (Not really. :P)

There was a lot of good material in the drafts - such as one of Krystal's many friends showing up, along with a lot of detail of a certain kind of building in Jidxumo (will be expanded upon in next chapter, I hope) - that I had to omit, but this is, to me at least, is more than enough to make up for it.

Anyway, lightspeed on down to the chapter! Enjoy. (P.S. I apologize for any mistakes that may occur in the text)

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_**On the Road**_

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_**Peace cannot be kept by force. It can only be achieved by understanding.**_

The sun was setting over the hottest day of the summer. To the humans of Atlantis, it was June twenty-fifth; to the native Cerinians, it was the middle of the 'dry' season, that time of year when rain is absent for a certain amount of weeks, or 'sevendays' as they are called.

But this season was an anomaly. Instead of the usual few short sevendays of dry heat that began the summer, it had begun into a full-blown heat-wave that lasted throughout most of the season – a killing heat that was deadly to both man and beast. High up in the skies, the course of the winds were the primary cause of this heat-wave; they kept away the rains from the North and east. But another cause was the position of the planet itself. Time had brought it much closer to its star than it had been long ago – so long ago only humanity could remember it, if at all. Also, Time had increased the size of the star slightly, but enough to make it hotter than normal. And so, as always at the beginning of every summer, the orbit of the life-bearing sphere brought it to its closest point towards its slightly larger sun. But this year some combination of the winds and orbit gave birth to this unusual weather – causing it to go on much longer than was normal. At the equator it was nothing short of hell – the kind of hell that is always hot, rather than cold. But as one went northwards – or southwards, depending on which side of the equator – it became cooler and cooler until you've reached the howling wastelands of the Poles, where the sun never sets for half of the year – and it is always cold.

The effects of the heat-wave were very different depending on the species. For man – both _Homo-sapiens _and _Homo-vulpes_ – it was just short of their definition of 'hell'. For most of the day, they would have to stay indoors until the evening was nigh (mornings carried the cool of night) and even then the heat was reluctant to leave. For the animals, they followed their instincts and migrated either North or South away from the girdle of the world – or moved towards water – such as the oceans, the rivers, or the lakes – where they could stay cool until the killing heat was over. For the plant-life, both the trees and the small kinds of flora, only the lack of rain caused them any hardship, and those by sources of water hardly felt anything. And so the countryside remained green and gold.

Flying high in the slightly pink azure skies a faint black speck glided along a draft of cold air. At that altitude heat was negligible and therefore non-existent. A piercing cry echoed across the dry landscape. The ears of the brown field-rabbits perked up and they instinctively knew that one of their enemies was overhead. Wherever they were, they dashed for their little brown burrows. They huddled together underneath the comforting earth, safe from both the weather and the hawk. The cry came again; and then a third time. It came a fourth time, but further away. The little bunnies cautiously peeked out of their sanctuaries and onto the open plain. The predator, it seemed, had either eaten its fill, did not feel like eating, or the heat had dulled its appetite. The long ears, no longer flattened with fear, of the rabbits perked back up and they hopped out from cover and resumed their interrupted play.

The hawk was not interested in a puny rabbit at the moment, for earlier on he had already landed a fair-sized badger and now his only concern was to make it home.

A rumble of thunder echoed from somewhere behind him. He beat his wings harder and sped slightly faster. That rumble was the primary reason of returning home. An instinctive fear had filled him; somehow, he knew that if he did not reach safety his life would be forfeit. No living creature had ever survived a thunderstorm out in the open: there was the danger of lightning coming down to strike; the deafening thunder could knock a bird out of the air by vibration alone; and the deadly wind ripping up trees, rocks, even animals up from the ground and sending them flying. Thanks to the breezes in the air, he knew that this was a killer storm, and yet at the same time, lifesaving. This storm would be the first of the year – and the one to break the oppressive heat-wave. It would renew the plants, revive the animals, and lift the spirits of man. A blessing in disguise as an old proverb had it.

The golden fields stretched out underneath him. Most of the farmlands of man were fallow, the farmers kept indoors and restricted to planting plots close to home. And the wild profited. Wild grasses grew tall and golden from spilled grain-seed; towering trees of the kind that grew like weeds stretched up into the sky where none grew before; and pastures slowly turned back to empty plains. Everything, it seemed, was returning to the hand of Nature. But the hawk knew better. Once the storm came man would reclaim what had been lost and the fields will be filled with carefully planned rows upon rows of crops once more.

Here and there a road twined through the fields. That was one thing that Nature could never reclaim except through Time. No matter how lethargic the heat made the farmers, the road crews made sure the roads, the lanes, and the highways were in running order. Even at the hottest time of day travelers can still be seen moving along the paved stretches, if a bit slowly.

The hawk was following one such road; a very wide road that he knew led to home. From the air, the roads looked like a single stretch of grey-brown – up close, they were carefully laid and fitted with carved flagstones in the shape of octagons. That was one sign that this road led to the hawk's home; ordinary roads were paved with rough squares. Another sign that this particular road led to home was the occasional large elegant bridge arching over the occasional river, adorned with great pillars carved in the shape of old heroes reaching up from either side, two on each wall. One such bridge passed underneath the bird. This one was wide enough for five wagons to ride abreast of one another with plenty of room to spare for walkers and/or runners. Ordinary bridges were made of wood and did not have small statues at the corners. But there was one thing both sets had in common and that was that they were maintained daily. There were no crumbling bridges anywhere in the land.

To the humans who occasionally ventured down here on one thing or another for unknown reasons the paved highways looked like one of the long ago Roman roads – through Time, the reorganization of the tectonic plates, and Nature's helper, the weather, had ensured all surviving relics of humanity had vanished. It was very easy to forget that this was practically an alien world until one reached a village or a town, like the one passing underneath the hawk's shadow. Then the illusion faded and one was struck by how much the world of their birth had changed.

This town, with a few differences, was not unlike a town of rural Europe. It was surrounded by a small palisade – in this case, it was stone rather than wood; wood was a fire hazard – though walls were more ornament that practical (bandits and brigands were kept away by the local militia), and dotted with one or two watchtowers, mostly used to keep an eye out for fires that were a hazard with so little rain. Inside, it was filled with the kind of buildings that one would expect of a farming community: houses, granaries, stables, a well or two with a trough for runners, a blacksmiths, and barns. There was even an inn, complete with stable with spare runners. Aside from the fact that Cerinians were its inhabitants, it was no different from a human settlement of the same name.

The road continued on, moving away from the town and onto the horizon.

Two more settlements passed underneath, but none were large, though were very prosperous, and then the hawk reached the jungle, the first jungle he'd seen for miles in the cultivated lands of man. There was a reason for this jungle; it was here to provide things that cannot be gotten elsewhere, like woods, plants, certain animals, medicines, oh countless other things. But the primary reason why a jungle was out here in the middle of inhabited land was because of the nobility. No matter the species, there was always an aristocracy, an upper-class of beings more privileged than their lesser fellows. And like all aristocrats they enjoyed leisure and therefore, earlier on in history, had set aside some wild land for preservation of game-hunting – though locals used the woods for their own needs. For the hawk, he couldn't have cared less of what some long dead noble way back in time had done; the only important thing to him was that it offered shade and protection from the burning sun.

He angled his wings and glided down through the trees. Long beams of sunlight lanced through the foliage, creating a mottled pattern. Huge multicolored flowers heavy with scent hung down from the trees and bushes blooming even in this heat. Strange insects both familiar and totally alien flew about them, gathering nectar or hunting their next meal. A long-nosed anteater poked through the short grass, hunting for food while a cunning white-tailed, purple fox (not related to the Cerinians) stalked behind him. The hawk passed over them, looking for somewhere to alight safely.

A twinkle of light flashing in the sun caught his eye and he angled towards it. It was a swiftly running stream; from the looks of it, nothing had been near it except for the prints of a heavy, two legged being, possibly a Cerinian. The hawk turned his wings, allowing them to the catch the air and slow down. He landed, running lightly and then stopped, folding his wings as he went. He turned his head this way and that, then bent over the stream. Several times he drank, lifting his head back in the fashion of drinking birds, keeping an eye (and ear, though most birds did not have good hearing) out for predators.

None came as he finished. He spread his wings again and took flight.

He soon cleared the thickly crowding limbs and tangles of leaves and vines and was once more in the open air. The rumble of thunder came again, louder than before. The storm was moving fast; already the western sky showed a cluster of grey-black clouds. He wheeled around and sped in the opposite direction. He soon found his bearings; the thin line of the road snaked through the forest and led out on the other side, joining with a larger road.

The great expanse of green on either side of the road stretched to the horizon, one side ended with an even bigger expanse of blue; another sign that the hawk was home, that he was sure of. The other side vanished off in the distance, meeting with the lighter blue (turning gold) of the sky.

For a few hours the bird was speeding home when his sharp eyes spied a long caravan moving along the road. This was not the first caravan he'd flown over; but this would be the last one until the storm broke. And also his last chance to find his quarry. He glided lower until he began to feel the heat radiating from the ground. Still, he flapped lower until he was directly overhead long line of wagons; so low, in fact, that he could make out the small multicolored figures walking alongside the larger runners clearly.

He cast his gaze on the ground, and began to search. There was still time before the storm, and at the rate they were heading, would not arrive until twilight.

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Down below the hawk, lying inside a cart with nothing better to do than to lie around was a very bored Krystal. Now that they had left the forest long behind and had joined up with a larger caravan, there was almost nothing she could do to amuse herself, other than getting lost and that was no fun at all. And so she was restricted, not only by Father's orders, but with the lack of interesting things to do other than staring out onto the vast green plains and letting the sun soak into her.

Boring.

But that might have something to do with her nature. She simply wouldn't sit still or slow down long enough to appreciate other kinds of things that are different and equally interesting. So, in retrospect, being restricted to the wagon might have been a good thing. But there was no way she'd voice it aloud, knowing exactly what Father, or even the most annoying person in the world, her sister, would say.

_It is for your own good._

Krystal sighed and turned over, allowing her back to absorb the warm sun. Unlike the forest, where the moisture amplified the heat into hellish temperatures, out here in the plains it was quite cool, especially compared to the beginning of spring when she couldn't spend anything less than a few seconds outdoors without being chased back inside. Only the evenings and the morning were cool enough (though the evenings were still enough to make her want to stay indoors) so that she could go outside without feeling as if she were roasting. Those times had been the worse in her life, not counting the time when she got lost on a trading expedition with one of her friends. The scolding that Father gave her – he could have raised his voice, but no, the gentle tone of voice he took was far worse – and the ensuing argument with Kurisutaru had been one of the worst times that had _ever_ happened to her. But that had been a very long time ago, back when she could get away with many thing that nowadays she couldn't. Now she was older, wiser, but still all the more adventurous.

She lifted up her eye and looked over the wooden sidebars of the wagon; stretching endlessly for kays upon kays were the rolling grassy plains. There was no way she could wander around out there without being seen, even if she had just one of the powers of the mythical Mages. There was nothing in the world that would hide her mind from a thousand telepaths (Mindspeech, to give telepathy its common name), nothing. Not even the shields and Protectors that hovered around the sapient mind would hide her if they didn't want her to hide. There was something very odd about them that she could not quite place; like, for example, if she was doing something that she was not supposed to be doing – Oh, any number of things – then like watchdogs they'd broadcast whatever she'd be doing and then she'd be disciplined by either Randorn (rarely) or Kurisutaru (often).

She fell back with a sigh. It was boring having to stay here, when she could be out there with friends. Oh well. Rules were rules, and she couldn't break Randorn's rules if she'd wanted too.

Anyroad, it was no use moping around; there was Jidxumo, the city of wonder and legend to look forward to!

She sat up and began to look around, as if looking for a way to escape, when in reality her mind was wandering farther than she could ever wander in a lifetime.

According to Randorn (back when she could pay enough attention without falling asleep), Jidxumo had started life out as a simple village, even simpler than Merryvale, their home village. For many years the Sun Village had led life simply, never changing, never growing, held with no bounds to any chieftain or warlord. But then a marvelous thing had happened. Back in those days, magery was not a thing of wondertales but an actual, real life common occurrence. Mages in those days were only simple tribal-shamans or hedge wizards, not like the Mages of the Golden Age, and they were mostly outcastes, though occasionally a warlord would have a shaman around to better his tribe. But for whatever reason, a Mage (a real Mage) happened to notice this small, out-of-the-way community and decided that it would make the perfect home.

The Sun Village's name was changed to Jidxumo (a Mage word meaning Sunhame) and from there its destiny was set to become the head of one of the world's greatest civilizations.

Then had followed a long, dull and boring lecture on all of the great wars, peace treaties, technological advances, works of power, and famous rulers of Cerinia that all had some connection with Jidxumo, and from there Krystal's attention began to wander until it came to the exciting part: the Dark Times.

She loved this part of the lecture because it dealt with a part of history that seemed more fantasy than fact. She loved listening to all of the theories and hypotheses of the Dark Times' beginnings – everything from daemons seducing the Mages with dreams of forbidden power (that would explain why there were no Mages or magery today), to the barbaric humans of the north causing strife and discord among the Seven Cities (which to her mind, seemed the most plausible) – and this would be the only lecture she'd gladly listen to, over and over again. That was why she was excited to go to Jidxumo so that she could find out herself what had really caused the Dark Times.

But then came another boring part, the long, endless accounts of battles, sackings of cities, sacrifices of famous heroes that only got a few days of glory, all of that part of history that dealt with solid fact rather than fiction and her mind would wander until she fell asleep.

But thankfully adolescence came upon her and you couldn't have forced her to sit still with leg irons at the teaching table. It was just impossible to restrain youth. So Randorn had let nature take its course – or curse – and let her roam free, something that her sister highly disapproved of. Krystal frowned slightly at that. Just because Kurisutaru didn't go out adventuring didn't mean she had to keep _her_ back! Unfair! But then, she reminded herself, life isn't fair; you'll just have to take the best parts of it and hope to get away with it. That had been her philosophy from the moment she'd gone off into the forest, free as a wild doe and as uncontrollably as a bluejay.

But of course, that annoyed her sister, Kurisutaru, to no end. Unlike Krystal, Kurisutaru was the oh-so-proper model of how a woman (as she always liked to point out, though in Krystal's opinion, it made her look silly) should behave. Unlike Krystal, who was always outdoors in the forest, Kurisutaru stayed at home, never went outdoors unless it was absolutely required, and in general, was as unpleasant a person that the Spirits had ever made – and, for some unknown and unexplained reason had made _her _the elder instead of Krystal.

Krystal hadn't realized she was glaring at Kurisutaru until the afore-named said acidly: "What are you staring at?"

Krystal jerked out of imagination and stared at Kurisutaru uncomprehendingly. "What?" she asked stupidly, as if she'd been jerked awake. In fact, that's what had happened.

"You have that _look _again," she replied, tapping her own face meaningfully. Krystal scowled; what look was she talking about?

"There, you see?" Kurisutaru pointed out with just a touch of superiority, "You always have that look when you glare at me; why, I don't think you can keep a straight face unless you're alone." Why the little –!

"Ha ha," Krystal said blandly, "very funny, sis."

"Oh? I was under the impression that you didn't find my jokes funny at all." She replied delicately, as if she were picking her words with care. "On the contrary, you are dull, bland, boring, oh any number of other things. You have no sense of humor even if someone shoved it into your face."

Krystal felt herself swelling up with an unexplained anger, one that made her fur stand up on end, and her bottlebrush tail look ridiculous. She bared her claws, discreetly though, waiting for the right excuse to use them.

"You just watch it, missy," She snarled, "Or one of these days I'll be using that tail for a rope!" Her own tail came up just to her shoulder, whereas Kurisutaru's went well over her head; and besides that it was far bushier than her own pitiful bottlebrush tail could ever be. Small wonder that boys found her so attractive. Well she wouldn't look so pretty without it!

Kurisutaru blanched: her tail, which had been lazily been moving back and forth, drawing, no doubt, the eyes of a hundred young bloods all around, instantly whipped out of sight and down onto the floor behind her. "You wouldn't!" she spluttered, "I'll – I'll –!"

"You'll do what? Skin me?" Krystal scoffed, getting onto her knees if it really did come to a fight. "You couldn't touch me if your life depended upon it!"

"You keep pushing me, jungle-rat, and I'll show you the error of your ways!" Kurisutaru snarled, also moving onto her knees. Krystal laughed aloud at the absurdity of that statement: She herself was wearing leggings and a buckskin shirt while Kurisutaru wore a long dress that would hinder her movements. If it came to a fight, there was no doubt who'd the winner would be. And being so far away from home Kurisutaru had none of her usual weapons, which would either be a frying pan, a broom, or a pot.

Krystal replied mockingly, "Try me, you spineless, filthy human." Instantly she knew she'd gone too far when Kurisutaru leapt at her – her skirts absolutely did nothing to hinder her – and bowled them both over the side. They both landed heavily on the ground (unfortunately, with Krystal on the bottom) and somehow rolled over to the side of the road away from the wagons.

Despite the fighting, the caravan did not stop for them, the drivers, walkers, and riders ignoring them as if they were rocks or just another pair of grasses on the plains. But many of the younger Cerinians broke away from their elders to watch the fierce combat. And fight they did, being cheered on enthusiastically by the onlookers. None of them seemed to want to break it up, and who could blame them? They'd been for too long out on the road, and this fight was a nice diversion from the monotony.

Snarling, hissing, and spitting like cats, they tumbled over one another, clawing every inch of the other they could reach, rending one another's clothes into so many shreds. Even blood was starting to be drawn.

Abruptly, Krystal felt a very strong arm grab her by the scruff of the neck and hoist her up in the air – Kurisutaru dangled like an ornament from another, equally strong arm – and held them both apart, no doubt to prevent them from lashing out at one another.

"Alright you two, break it up or I'll show you how it's done, properly!" Krystal shook her head frantically; Kurisutaru did the same, eyes wide. "And what was all that about the _humans_? What cause did you have to say their name like that? Was it a jest? Or was it an insult?" The voice turned deeper and menacing while Krystal kept her head turned away from the owner of the arm. "Humans do not deserve to be used like an epithet of rudeness and stupidity. Would you like it if they used the name of _our_ race like you used theirs?" Krystal shook her head again; her neck was starting to burn something fierce and she wanted to be down on the ground. No doubt Kurisutaru felt the same way; she was far too old to be treated like this at all. But then again, she was far too old to be scrambling down in the dirt like a child.

"Good, and don't let me catch you using that name, or by God I will flay you both alive!" the voice said with an edge.

Krystal suddenly felt light and then found herself on the ground, hurting both in the neck and on her bum. Not to mention all of those scratches, bites and clawing she'd gotten. Though to be fair, she dealt out some of her own too .

"Is there a problem, goodsir?"

Krystal groaned; why did it have to be that voice? Why, Spirits, why?

"Are these your daughters?" the hard voice asked, having turned away from them both – all she could see was a huge, broad back and an angrily moving blue tail.

"Yes they are goodsir." Randorn replied cheerfully, "What was it exactly that concerned you to break up their sisterly squabble?" He asked, humor still dancing in his voice. Oh, Spirits, why did he have to be so daemon-blasted cheerful?!

"I happen to overhear their 'squabble', as you call it, and heard the name of those in the North used rather unflatteringly. I had to intervene, because I did not feel that their name should be used like dirt."

"And in that, goodsir, I most heartily agree with you." Krystal's heart sank; if she'd been hoping to get off lightly, she was swiftly disabused of that notion. Even more embarrassing was the fact that this fight had happened for no reason at all other than that both she and Kurisutaru were bored.

"Get up, children." The deceptive gentle tone made her tremble from head to tail to toe. She slowly got up, aching everywhere, and came face to face with one of the largest Cerinians she'd ever seen in her life.

He stood at least six feet tall, with a broad, powerful physique. His face was one of hard lines and straight angles, as if he'd never smiled in his entire life; dominating his features was a pair of hard, cold light blue eyes (a strange combination against his equally light-blue fur) glaring down at her, pinioning her between their gaze. She wanted to sink into the ground to hide from them; and to avoid the smirks from those watching them.

"Now children, I hope you've learned your lesson about fighting in public, now come along." Randorn took both of them firmly by the arm – showing a strength that was usually impossible for his age – and steered them away. The huge Cerinian glared at them for a moment and started to turn away when Randorn spoke, addressing him: "Goodsir, would it trouble you if you came along? I'd like it if you can keep my two misbehaving daughters in line. I'd be most obliged, but if you have other business elsewhere –?"

Krystal's heart sank, if possible, even lower when the giant (and strangely familiar) Cerinian replied, "Of course, good father."

He strolled up to walk besides Randorn, while she and Kurisutaru trudged slowly back to the wagon, which had been parked off to the side; the watchers had dispersed, possibly the moment the giant had ripped them apart. Just to distract her from her own pain, she glanced over to Kurisutaru and saw, to her relief, that her ears were flattened, fur disheveled, dress ripped, and looking very miserable. Krystal felt the corners of her mouth curl up in a small smile; she herself was in no way embarrassed because she'd gone through the same scene countless times before, from fighting with others that had picked either a fight with her or that she'd gotten in their way.

The giant and Randorn were speaking too low for her to make out what they were saying, but it looked as if the giant was apologizing for the disciplining them (which, clearly, he had every right to do so even if they were not his own), while Randorn was thanking him profusely (because he couldn't do it himself); and both sides of the conversation were mingling with one another, sounding very confused. She suspected that Randorn had invited him along because he knew that another fight would break out anyway no matter how harshly he spoke to them. Well, maybe not to Kurisutaru for she looked cowed enough that she wouldn't start one, but Krystal would!

She hoped (secretly, because Randorn might not change his mind) that she'd might not have to stay with her sister before they left the city. It was bad enough to live with her but to be in constant contact like this would do them no good whatsoever.

She and her sister climbed into the broad wagon (taking opposite seats from one another, as far apart as possible); Randorn and the stranger took their spots in the drivers' bench; the stranger whipped up the runners into action again; and the wagon moved back into position of the caravan, though significantly further back because of the delay. Everyone else ignored them, as if the fight had never happened (though a few youngsters called out to them, her in particular, for winning the fight even though it'd been halted abruptly), and Kurisutaru paid absolutely no attention to her at all; from her silence, it was as if Krystal was not there.

Krystal sighed; for a few moments, all boredom had vanished. Now it seemed even duller than before. To find something to do, she tried to puzzle out the stranger. With his back turned towards her, all she could see of him was a splotched tunic and a rapidly moving blue tail. She knew she'd seen him somewhere before, but couldn't quite place those hard features of his. Maybe he was a trader from Jidnukoh, the closest city to Merryvale, and she'd run afoul of him there. She knew of one or two that had taken a dislike towards her, but there may be more.

Why was he so daemon-damn familiar?!

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Early on, Theran had decided that the Cerinians were quite batty, unable to keep a straight thought in their heads, and the past few hours had certainly proved it.

For example, the road that had led out of the forest did _not _go right up to the city; rather, it had meandered through the plain, heading southeastward, hugging the forest until it joined up with a larger road – further away than it had originally began. And then the caravan had joined up with an even _larger _caravan with even _more _furries to deal with – as if he hadn't had enough to worry about. Then he'd somehow been roped into keeping a bunch of unruly horses in line – they kept on shying away from him, despite his expertise with them – by a group of Cerinians younger than he, stronger most certainly, and quite feebleminded to top it off. He'd found himself taking care of _all _the horses in that particular group while they all chatted about the weather (as if the heat didn't exist at all; why, they were talking about the rains along the west coast for God's sake!), and the state of the crops they'd passed (which was hardly surprising, giving the Hades'-like temperature everywhere). And then finally, to top it all off, he'd heard someone (a very young, very foolish vixen from the high voice) yell something about 'spineless, filthy humans' – and then that's where he'd snapped.

He abandoned his post (earning quite a few reproving glares), beat his way past a lot of very stubborn horses, elbowed aside and knocked over quite a few bodies down (he faintly heard Sparky 'shouting' at them that 'he' was sorry), and grabbed the two fighting figures on the side on the road, ripping them apart despite the fact that they were almost his size and that what he was doing was dangerously close to breaking out of character. He would have done more – knocking their heads together, for one thing – before two things struck him. One was that both were girls and the other was that one of them was the very same one that 'fell' on him in the forest.

Oh, and there were two more things that struck him – one was that he'd had no business grabbing two kits and disciplining them as if they were his own children (Christ knew he'd never had patience with kids, even with human ones) and two, Sparky had forcibly taken control of his body – the one or two times he'd done so – and prevented him from beating them then and there.

So he'd done the only other option left to him and that was he'd given them a ringing lecture that he was quite sure had penetrated through their skulls – at least they'd stopped glaring at one another – by simply pointing out that their own race (he said _our_ to keep in character) name could be used in the exact same context by humans, though he didn't quite say it like that.

On the upside, no one aside from the old man that was surely their father – and he was glad that the old man was smiling rather than scowling – had paid any attention to their dressing down, except, of course, the few lollygaggers that had gathered around the pair. He'd scattered them all with a single look that told them quite plainly to _get lost_.

And now (and this was the strangest part) he was sitting next to the old man – who'd introduced himself as Randorn, a village Healer and their father – and talking with him as if Theran had never disciplined the two kits firmly. Of course though it was only his internal frustration – being forced to become a furry, for one thing, and having to rescue a completely stupid Tristan (why on Earth had he been doing down here in the first place?) from the same furries he was pretending! – that had led him to nearly break character and risk discovery by ten thousand furries.

Madness! Pure madness!

**_~And another thing, you dunderhead, you inadvertently made a friend amongst the 'furries'~_**

Wait, what friend?

**_~Why the old man of course. He couldn't have cowed them the way you can, not with physical force anyroad. That was one of the reasons why he'd invited you to come along; to keep 'em in line in they should start it all over again~_**

_Ah, right, that makes sense. What's the other reason? _Theran tried his level best to keep his attention on what the old man was saying – something about being fellow travelers going to the same place.

**_~And the second reason is that he too is a newcomer here to Jidxumo – no, he is not going to ask you questions about it, since by your garb you've never been to this area before in your life, much less the city – and he wishes that you should stick with him for a bit. I suspect it mostly has to do with keep those unruly vixens in line back there, anyway~ _**Sparky said, then added, **_~The primary reason is that he wants someone to talk to~_**

"– I am most grateful for your timely intervention between them." Randorn was saying, and that was what got Theran's mind back in the real world. "They would have done some serious damage to one another – "

"All I heard, good father, was that one of them called the other a name that most rightfully belongs to the humans of the North and should not be used like that, ever." Theran replied, warily. "And that even our enemies do not deserve to be used like that."

"In that I agree with you, young man, but only on that we must show proper respect for one another. No, what I do not agree with you is that they are our enemies." Randorn continued, while Theran tried his best to keep from looking shocked.

**_~Well, well, there are even a few Cerinians that do not like the state of war between our two species~_**

_And you stay out of this, you twit!_

"Why is that, good father?" he asked, while shutting out Sparky's snickers somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Well, I do not see why we should be at war – or even be at odds with one another. Though I have not met a human personally, – "

_What an irony_, Theran thought, _you're talking with one right now._

" – I still believe that they are no more different than us."

"Sorry to disabuse you of that notion, good father, but I believe you are out of step with the times – I don't think you'd find too many others who'd agree with you." Theran responded politely, keeping the twin geldings in line with the reins.

"Ah, good point, young sir, but I sense that you are one of those who agree with me." Randorn riposted quickly. "Yes, I admit that I am a bit old-fashioned in my views, but to me, I don't see why there should be any reason to fight with one another. The North Lands are hardly suitable for us, while the humans have been living there since the Dark Times without ever having cause for trouble. Cerinia is big enough for all of us, but alas, there are others who disagree with me." he sighed, his ears moving down in unison.

_Do I count? _Theran thought wryly. There'd be no way in hell that they could live side by side – look at why he was down here in the first place!

**_~Nope, you do not count. Deep down, you too, wish for peace between humankind and Ceriniankind~_**

_The only way that is ever going to happen is when you leave my head!_

**_~Phooey, that'll never happen – but that does not mean peace can exist between the two of you~_**

_I'll sleep on that thought for later – after I'm safely back home with Tristan._

**_~I'll see that you do~_**

"Hey, I know you! I met you in the forest!" Ah, good grief, that kit! Was he never to be rid of her?

He turned around to see a grinning, foxy countenance (with blue fur) almost right in his face. The odd thing was that she didn't seem to notice at all that just a few minutes before she'd been lifted bodily up in the air, been yelled with considerable volume (enough to make anybody's ears ring), and then dropped onto the ground as if she were nothing. _Another reason why the Cerinians are so wacky minded; they can't even carry a grudge properly. _He thought to himself as he stared blankly at her.

**_~Is that so? Then why are they at war with humanity? There had to be some motive; and I do not believe, for an instant, that there are those who hate each other on sight, even at the species level~_**

_Good riddance._

"Ah, yes, as I recall, you thought I was a panther." He replied blandly, "I assume that everyone here, exempting me, is your family?" he asked, waving vaguely at the other vixen sitting sulkily in the back of the cart, darting withering glares at the smiling vixen's back.

"Oh, her," she replied airily, "She's only a friend who dropped over."

"Now, Krystal, you know that is not true so stop making things worse for yourself," Randorn replied sternly. "Kurisutaru is your sister, albeit half-sister, not a friend." He turned around, adding under his breath that only Theran could hear, "If they were friends that friendship would have ended a long time ago."

**_~Look who said that Cerinians can't carry grudges properly? Look at these two and prove me wrong!~_**

_In general, you idiot!_

"Oh, thanks for reminding me, father, sir, we'd never met properly. I am Krystal, what's your name?" the brightly smiling vixen asked, bottlebrush tail waving back and forth madly, ears pointed up; in general, looking like a very happy canine.

_Just like a dog,_ Theran thought as he replied, "The name's Theran, and if you will excuse me, I have to handle a cart."

"Okay then, suit yourself!" and with that, she got down (pointedly not staring at the golden vixen, which must be Kurisutaru), and resumed doing whatever overactive vixens who jumped on foresters thinking they were panthers ordinarily did.

"She is a handful," Randorn said as Theran returned his attention to the road, "Possibly more than I can handle, but fortunately she is growing. With time, she'll see the error of her ways – before I have to bury her." He sighed; Theran ignored it, politely of course.

_Uh right, I'm a stranger and you're here sharing out information like I'm an uncle or something._

**_~He just wants someone to talk to someone that is unbiased (in a matter of speaking) about the subjects he wants to converse about~_**

_And you, my over-talkative friend, shut up!_

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

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~X~X~X~X~X~X~

The hawk was growing weary; for almost an hour he'd flown back and forth over the huge caravan, and still he'd not found the Healer. The Master would be very disappointed if the Healer was not coming to the city. Why, the hawk did not know, but it was something that the Master hoped for fervently.

Just as he made another sweep, something caused him to look down: there, below him, just below, was a wagon, upon which sat two vixens, one gold, the other blue (from their expressions, looking very grumpy, the hawk noted), while in the front of the wagon sat a big, strapping young man of the same shade of blue as one of the vixens, and beside him sat a brown-colored vulpine, talking animatedly with him: and the young man's expression was less than interested. In fact, all that he wanted to do was drive this cart and get into the city as fast as possible, very much like the hawk did.

His mission done, the hawk sped up and soon outdistanced the caravan. Crowning the horizon, bathed in gold and pink color was the vast jewel that was his home, barely a few kays from the caravan's current position. The hawk flew over the high walls, evaded the numerous towers, and began to seek his home. He could not have reached home sooner. With any luck, Master will know that the Healer was coming and would go and meet them at the gates soon enough.

Behind him, almost forgotten, the gathering storm rumbled menacingly, clouds bunching up on the horizon. The storm was close, very, very close.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

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A/N: (8/21/13 update) Finished the last of the edits for _On the Road_.


	3. The Imperial City

A/N: With each new installment I find that TCE is becoming more and more complex - sometimes surprising me with how it turns out. I feel a sense of satisfaction whenever I complete something like this, and the feeling is only more when I've completed more, such as this behemoth here. As always, should you see anything amiss sing out and I'll rectify it immediately.

I'd like to thank two people and their pen-names are as follows:

K. S. Reynard for liking this story so much that he has recomended it in his own story, _Star Fox - The Iridium Chronicle  
_And Wolfsalvo for once again helping me when I needed it - even though I decided to delete the section he'd beta-read, I still give him my thanks for his help.

And now, on with the show.

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* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

_**The Imperial City**_

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

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_**Si fueris Romæ, Romano vivito more; Si fueris alibi, vivito sicut ibi.  
**__**(If you are at Rome live in the Roman style; if you are elsewhere live as they live elsewhere.)**_

Kurisutaru suddenly awoke, feeling bitterly cold.

She lay upon a hard, cold surface with a far too small blanket covering her shivering body; in contrast, both her back and tail were nice and warm, the latter wrapped around something, the former up against something soft and squishy. Greeting her eyes was a dark world speckled over with stars and a glow somewhere above her lopsided vision. A gust of wind blew over her, preventing her from sinking back to slumber.

After a while of shivering and scrunching up her legs to keep warm, she gave up the fight and sat up. As she did so, the warmth (and squishy something) around her back disappeared; startled, she looked back. Sleeping quite comfortably up against the wall, held into place and protected from the wind by Kurisutaru's body, was her little sister Krystal. Also giving protection from the wind was a large assortment of blankets and two tails, one gold-colored, the other ultramarine, both curled around her like ropes. Kurisutaru sighed in exasperation. She reached back, and carefully and gently, untangled her five-foot long tail from around Krystal. The little vixen responded to the change by curling up even tighter, looking incongruously like a blue-and-brown cocoon. Kurisutaru looked down at her, the ghost of a smile on her features, then it faded and she turned away.

Normally, Krystal was her bane when awake, but when fast asleep, she was no more a nuisance than the gentle (normally) breeze back home. It was no different now. Kurisutaru might loathe her with every part of her being, but at times such as this she could see her as another person; the kind of person that she would have accepted as a sister, given a choice. Kurisutaru draped her discarded covering over Krystal and then turned her attention away from her little sister.

It was a beautiful night out, despite the cold wind: the stars were shining brightly (the Great White River outlined especially in the sky); the crickets were chirping, their strange music pleasant to her ears; the rustle of the wind blowing across the land; and the sounds of runners slowly moving along. And above all, it was quiet, just as the nights should be, she thought contentedly. The nights before this were not so quiet at all. On the contrary, she always woke up inside a city where things never seemed to quiet down: never. The noise was simply too much for her country-bred ears to handle; she'd tie pillows to her ears and not take them off until they inside and sleeping on real beds. Mostly she never was able to wake up this early to enjoy the quiet solitude of the country, one last time, before they left the road. But it seemed the Spirits had granted her a reprieve and allowed her to awake (even if it had to be a cold wind) and for that she was grateful.

A rumbling in the distance heralded a thunderstorm; the storm whose threatening clouds had moved with them from most of the past few days had finally caught up, and on the eve of their vacation too. It looked like their stay in Jidxumo would be far longer than Father had originally planned.

She turned her head, looking around; surrounding the long, winding, dusty road stretched vast dark-green plains, marching towards the indigo-blue horizon. Upon the road were hundreds of wagons, each one full of sleeping vulpines, all resting from the heat of the day. And in front of her wagon was the city Jidxumo, their destination.

Twin walls defended her from outsiders: the first row between thirty and twenty meters high with numerous towers every couple hundred feet, and the only way in or out were three large gatehouses; the second row of walls twice as high, on hills with the foundations going down to bedrock, twice as many towers, and with only one gatehouse on that section of wall - a formidable defense. Not to mention the gigantic elemental cannons mounted on both tower and wall, ready to fry any invader. And then, inside the vast city, there were other city walls and towers, from when the city had been smaller, further providing protection against invaders should they break in.

She leaned back against the wooden sides of the moving wagon, unconsciously shifting her weight to compensate for the changes in motion, and looked up at the beautiful sky, knowing this would be the last time she'd see it like this before they disappeared for a week or two inside the city. She remembered stories her mother used to tell of other worlds high up in the sky, worlds like Suocim, where the Seven Guardians dwelt, keeping eternal vigil over Cerinia, or Cokxuoaj where the spirits of the departed went, to rest for awhile before they returned. She wondered which of the bright dots of light above her was one of them; the bright North Star that always shined no matter what the conditions of the weather were like was sure to be Suocim, but what of the other stars? Were there places for other creatures like the half-mythical faerie-folk that once walked Cerinia, long ago when it was new? Maybe one of the libraries in the city would provide an answer.

A sound behind and to her right arrested her attention. Sitting like monolithic statues against the purple sky were Father and the stranger. The former, directly behind and above her, was nodding his head in time with the wagon's gait; to the right sat the latter with his tail slowly moving from side to side to keep his balance, controlling the two runners that pulled their wagon. He was humming a low tune that undoubtedly helped to keep him awake.

The cold wind came again, blowing even more swiftly; she shivered, fur standing up on end in an unconscious effort to conserve heat, but it did far more harm than good. A great shiver racked her body, and she snatched up the blanket she'd lain over Krystal not three minutes ago and clutched it tightly around her.

A large coat landed over her shoulders; she dropped the blanket and pulled it around her. She held it tight until her teeth stopped chattering and able to relax. She sighed in contentment, leaning back into the coat's warm embrace (almost smothering a slumbering Krystal), but then sat bolt upright, nearly dislodging it. She looked towards her right; the stranger appeared to have gotten smaller, but then she realized it was the absence of his jacket, which he'd so kindly given to her. An unlikely gesture, considering the way he'd first met her, rolling around on the ground in a humiliating brawl over something completely stupid.

Kurisutaru leaned over and touched him on the elbow, the only place she could comfortably reach. "Goodsir, I don't need this." she said, dragging the warm covering off of her and laying it beside him. "You need it more than I do."

He turned his head, face half in shadow. "I don't mind the cold, ma'am. I've spent far too many nights without any coverings to protect me, and this is only minor in comparison." he said, freeing one hand from the reins and pushing the coat back towards her.

"But still, I don't want it," Kurisutaru repeated, shivering in spite of herself. Her fur traitorously fluffed up, making her look ridiculous.

He chuckled. Putting the reins between his knees he reached around and settled the coat securely on her shoulders, admonishing as he did so: "Don't take it off until we've reached our destination."

Kurisutaru sat back in defeat.

"Thank you, goodsir."

"Call me Theran, ma'am."

"Thank you, Theran," she said, smiling in spite of herself. "I am Kurisutaru."

"Pleased to meet you, Kurisutaru." he replied, taking up the reins once more.

For a while they rode in silence, drawing nearer to Jidxumo as the road wound around a hillock. She leaned back in silent thought, careful not to crush Krystal. Her thoughts drifted to when the forester, Theran, had broken up their little squabble and then delivered a ringing talking-down (punctuated by much shaking) to them. She wondered if the forester had known one of those humans that he'd spoken of, long ago. Knew them enough to take offense against any insult made against them. Though if he was smart, he'd know not to talk about it as often as Father did; Father might have the advantage of old age, but _he _certainly didn't.

Then, unable to stand her own thoughts, she breached the silence. "I'm sorry about what happened before." she said, ears down in silent shame. "I should have known better."

He laughed softly, "Anyone would have been ticked off. I don't blame you for snapping at your sister," he said, nodding back towards the sleeping form of Krystal, "but in the future, try to control your reaction. And besides," he continued, "she should have known better than to use that name in that fashion anyway."

Kurisutaru was unsure whether to laugh or not, so she compromised by offering a weak smile; it was missed by Theran as his attention was on the runners. "I see you are like Father. Peace and equality for all races." she remarked wryly.

"Oh no, not at all. I have my own reasons against the humans, but they are not so low as to be used as degrading phrases by young kits seeking to win fights." That last was said with a hint of humor, as if he'd done the very same thing once or twice in his youth. "They are, in many ways, like us."

"Have you known any humans?" she asked, curious.

"Err…." he remained silent and played with the reins. "Err…. yes, long ago."

Seeing the conversation was getting uncomfortable, Kurisutaru changed the subject, "Goodsir, why are you going to Jidxumo?"

"Couldn't put it more bluntly than that, can you?" he chuckled. "Well I afraid that is nothing you need to know."

"But, goodsi - I mean, Theran, what could possibly be so important that you leave your forests and come to civilization?" She had a point. Foresters were not known for mixing in with "the noisy city-folk" as she herself saw them (and called them) as. They would rather go and explore the wild North, which was their sole range, and do battle with the humans, who it was said, were not at all civilized; more like uncultured savages, just one step above animal, or so she'd read. What made them different in _this _vulpine's eyes? That thought danced around in her head for a little while, but then she dismissed it as irrelevant; her Father, who had hardly known a human ever, saw them as fellow beings and _he _did not see them like animals.

"Well, if you really want to know…." he paused; Kurisutaru leaned forward, eyes glittering, unaware that Krystal was becoming more exposed to the wind.

"It's my brother. He had sent a message to me, asking for my assistance. He has gotten into a spot of trouble and I'm here to bail him out."

"Oh," she said, quite surprised. "What happened to him?" This is why he was down here? To help a city-dweller, even if he was his brother?

"I'm afraid I don't know any more than you do. My hope is that I can help him out quickly so that I can go. If not, it's going to be a long night for me."

"I wish you luck." she said, wondering how on Cerinia his brother had gotten into trouble on tonight. Tonight was supposed to be the night where every wrong was forgiven, every hurt was healed, and every slight was repaired (even her ongoing feud with Krystal). She wondered how much trouble his brother had gotten into to warrant calling down one of his kinsmen to get him out, particularly a reclusive forester. She gave up on it; it was no use worrying about it "until your fur fell out" as her mother once said.

"Thanks, but I think I can manage. It's simple enough really, just a patch here, a mending there, and I'm home free."

The road swung about, and the great portal of the Main Gate faced them from across a bridge. The portcullises were up, the vast gates open, the torches all lit, and the first of the wagons were crossing through.

Theran reached over and gently shook Randorn awake, saying "Sir, we're here."

Randorn stirred from his almost catatonic state into full awareness. He yawned, opening his jaws widely, reminding Kurisutaru of a long-snouted lizard she'd seen in pictures that inhabited the swamps of the far South-West. "Wh - what is going on, young sir?" he asked, now rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Kurisutaru ducked as his tail swept over her head; she was, after all, sitting just behind him.

"We've just now reached the city, good father." Theran said as the wagon clattered onto the wooden drawbridge.

"Oh good," Randorn said happily.

Kurisutaru's wide eyes stared up at the towering edifice over her as they drove up to the great, open gates, all thoughts of Theran's mysterious (albeit unusual) mission forgotten. Great, stone walls thirty meters high stretched out from either side of the Main Gate in a huge V, with two huge towers jutting out on the ends; on the towers glinted the long barrels of elemental cannons, deliberately kept short ranged in case an enemy breached the walls to prevent them being used against the defenders. Flanking the Main Gate itself were four octagonal towers, two side-by-side; between them were the white battlements of the parapets, a tall shadow standing sentinel over the gate: a soldier of the City.

The dark yawning maw of the portal, even blacker than the soft night outside, enveloped them. The still quietness of the night was shattered by the echoing _clip-clop_'s of countless runners; Kurisutaru glanced back towards Krystal, but thankfully, the little ultramarine vixen slept soundly, dead to the world. The tunnel was pitch-black; a deep, pressing black that pressed itself against her eyes, almost suffocating her (figuratively speaking). The feeling of being suffocated remained with her until they emerged from the opposite side.

On the opposite side of the Gate was a huge artificial black lake, its waters smooth and glassy with no current to stir it; arching over it were three long bridges, each one leading from the Outer Gates to the central gate. Little towers lined the bridges at intervals, with a guard stationed inside; occasionally, one waved at the passing convoy. As they moved towards the central gate, the bridge began to slope gently upwards; a means of preventing heavy and unwieldy siege engines from being wheeled up.

Unlike Krystal, who always preferred the outside ever since she was old enough to roam free, Kurisutaru loved to read; it allowed her to escape from the rigors of housekeeping and forget the fact that Krystal was not always there to help her out. And therefore she'd gone through every single book in the house and right through almost every book in the village library. And thanks to that extensive reading (and self-education) she had names for many of the strange sights she saw.

For example, the huge, multi-storey U-shaped towers of the gatehouses were known as 'gate-towers'; the specific type of tower used were barbicans, massive towers meant for the sole defense of the vulnerable wooden gates. The little towers protruding from the main structure were known as turrets, often armed with oversized crossbows called 'ballista' or in plural 'ballistae' that supplemented the elemental cannons, often used during the reloading or cool-downs of the former. And the little squares she saw lining the walls at regular intervals were 'putlog holes', or holes meant for the construction of wooden additions (called hoardings) to the main defenses.

The fey twilight of the evening vanished from view as the dark portal of the second gatehouse enveloped them; a much bigger version of the Outer Gates, but still the same in both function and style. The utter blackness was depressing, depressing to someone who'd spent her life out in the wide, open countryside, as much as she preferred the indoors. The darkness was temporarily elevated by the entrance into a huge courtyard ringed with turrets but resumed almost immediately as the caravan slowly moved on.

Fortunately, the tunnel ended abruptly a few moments later and their wagon emerged, along with the rest of the caravan, into a stunning blaze of gold-and-white light.

From the outside, Jidxumo had simply looked like a giant, lighted gourd, but the inside totally belied those assumptions; it was simply blinding, for the lack of a better word. Lights were everywhere: strung on the lines side-by-side with banners and pennants; streaming from far too many open windows, competing with the confetti and balloons floating about in the air; blazing like the fires of the twelve hells atop huge carved pillars; shining down from the famous towers of Jidxumo - light was everywhere!

And the noise! Singing and laughter competed with the shouting, shrieking, and chatter of hundreds upon thousands of vulpines - most of them visitors. It was complete and total bedlam! Nothing like this had ever happened out in the quiet countryside. Oh the countryside had its own brand of commotions, (take, for example, the fairs and traveling carnivals) but this was insane! Who could possibly sleep through all of this noise? On the heels of that thought, she looked back at Krystal, but her sister was blessedly oblivious to everything. She could sleep through a quake and a thunderstorm combined - something which she could never do.

"Where are we going, Father?" she almost shouted, trying to make herself heard over the surrounding din.

He half-turned his head back towards her, and cupped his ear; "What?"

_~Where are we going?~ _she repeated in Mindspeech, putting her hands over her own ears to better Hear his response.

_~Oh, we - that is to say, the Merryvale contingent - are going to the _Golden Rood _to lodge for the duration of our stay~ _Randorn replied, somehow carrying on another conversation with Theran simultaneously; how in the world could he make himself heard over all of this noise was astounding, but the forester was listening, head nodding or shaking. Kurisutaru nodded - a gesture that went unnoticed - and turned her attention to the surrounding bustle, a bustle that was never found in Merryvale.

They were in the center of a broad boulevard, a wide street that ensured no traffic blockages - most of the time. Now it was crowded with hundreds of wagons, runners, and vulpines; where were they all going, she could not tell, but then, cities had always baffled her. Lining the edges of the boulevard were almost equally wide sidewalks, a feature not found in the cities she'd been to, devoted exclusively to the vulpine-traffic thronging the road - but, like the street, it was overcrowded, and some fools even had the audacity to put vehicle traffic on them! On the other side of these sidewalks were the tall façades of public buildings - everything from taverns and hostels to shops and markets, all stuffed full of visitors for the Festival. And providing the main source of illumination - aside from the lanterns swinging above them - were the tall pillars she'd seen earlier. Those were the only things unobstructed, if one overlooked the waving flags and confetti.

They passed innumerable streets, junctions, crossings, and even bridges arching over waterways as they drove down Main Street, until they reached a great square with so many roads branching off that it looked more like a part of the road itself. In the dead center an enormous fountain with sparkling water flowing down the sides and into the basin rose majestically into the air. Lining the edges of the square were countless stalls and tables, all crowded with vulpines of every color and hue imaginable; a large market was underway, shop-owners and marketers taking advantage of the press to display their wares.

At one point, they passed a large building that served no apparent purpose, but appearances were deceiving. The huge barrel of an elemental cannon pointed up in the sky, meant for defense against fliers and any enemies that broke into the city-proper, while a miniature version of the two-tiered defense seen outside further ensured protection. With towers, moat, and a tall watchtower, the defensive-complex was complete.

Many such little fortresses were everywhere, all meant for the sheltering of the populace during siege, each with enough space for supplies to last months. It was even rumored that there was an underground system of tunnels, all of them connected to the Citadel, though Kurisutaru thought that if one of these mini-castles were breached, it was unlikely that the founders had made such a glaring error in the city-defense. However each one was as highly defended as the walls themselves, with the cannons also short-ranged if they were ever broken into.

"Children, we're here," Randorn's voice penetrated to her half-deafened ears. She'd been too caught up in staring round at all of the places they passed; temples, marketplaces, theaters, local business, courts-of-law, libraries (imagine all of those books!), and even what looked like a coliseum complete with a racecourse. She wrenched her head around and found herself looking at a modest establishment (thankfully, in brown, not white; she'd had enough of white) at which they and several other wagons were stopping. She reached around and began shaking Krystal; the little girl, however, was sleeping too deeply to be roused and Kurisutaru resorted to using a Mindcall to wake her.

"Wh - where are we?" Krystal asked, blinking her eyes rapidly; the light had temporarily blinded her; also the noise was disorienting.

"We're in Jidxumo, Krystal, and we've stopped at a place to sleep," Kurisutaru explained, getting out of the wagon, "come on, or you'll be left behind." she pulled the coat off (she'd forgotten it was still around her, being caught up in staring) and laid it on the drivers' seat; Theran and Randorn had already dismounted and were standing off the side, arguing heatedly. Theran kept shaking his head, all the while manhandling the runners into the stable, while Randorn looked almost pleading. At last, he gave up and bade the young man on his way. Theran scooped up his coat, swung it around him, and melted off in the darkness. Kurisutaru looked at Randorn, who said; "I invited him to lodge with us, but he said he had other things to do."

"He came here to help his brother, who has gotten into some sort of trouble that is apparently too serious to forgive." Kurisutaru explained, unloading her things; Krystal handed them to her, not quite watching where she put them.

"Ah, I understand." Randorn commented, and moved to help them.

In the end, Randorn enlisted the help of two strong fellows and then they were off, marching their way into the _Golden Rood_. Inside it was not as noisy as was the rest of the city, but the din was enough to make them cover up their ears; Randorn took no notice of it and instead walked to the back desk and was soon in conversation with the young, bored-looking vixen clerk there.

Kurisutaru looked back as she entered the building, hampered as she was by the shapeless bags, trying to see where the forester had gone off, but found it impossible; apparently, cities were not that different from forest, because he had vanished quickly. A pity: she'd liked him. She turned her attention back to her task and followed a staggering Krystal inside.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

_Can't this place get any _more _crowded?_

_**~Intrinsically speaking, yes, but then with these Cerinian holidays, you really can't tell~**_

_That was a rhetorical question, for, what, the hundredth time._

_**~As you fully well know, I always take them literally~**_

_And I wasn't talking to you._

A tall, lone Cerinian clothed in brown pushed his way through the swarm of visiting Cerinians. Those who turned aside to protest at their abrupt and rude forcing out of their accustomed places found a scowling and grim visage upon his face, dark eyes concealed by a short-brimmed hat. They snapped back any retort that might have come out; everything about this particular stranger bespoke of a dangerous personality. In that estimate they were not too far from the truth. A few burrs stuck to his clothing in various places stated that he was an outdoorsman, unsuited to close quarters with others, unused to civilization. Also in that respect they were correct though their initial assessment would be wrong. If any of the Cerinians who were being forced unceremoniously aside by this tall, mysterious strange had any idea of who he really was – well, that would be best left to probability as it was unlikely to happen. Unless the little necklace dangling around the neck were to suddenly be dislodged or smashed, or turned off.

And then it really wouldn't matter.

_**~Oh really? Then who were you talking to? Not to yourself, I hope? Talking to oneself is really quite boring, unless there is someone else nearby, such as myself, to converse with~**_

If any of the Cerinians surrounding him had any notion of what was going through his head, it would confirm their assumption that he was completely and hopelessly mad – since, having neither idea nor reason to suspect it, they wouldn't hear his constant mental tormentor that they would occasionally hear him address as Sparky. And having no way to hear 'Sparky's' side of the conversation, because the little mental Guardian ensured that it remained invisible, they would stick to the madness theory. And in some respects, they would be entirely right. However, as a whole, Theran was perfectly sane and in full possession of his wits, just not fully in control of the little voice that occasionally snapped back at him. He could _block _the voice but couldn't fully shut it _out_.

_How would you know? You hardly talk to anyone but me! _Theran demanded, still moving forward, oblivious to the stares he was attracting; he was, perhaps, the tallest Cerinian ever seen in these parts and with good reason too. Most Cerinians were around five foot, various inches, whereas he towered a good head over most of them.

_**~Just because you cannot hear my internal monologing doesn't mean I don't talk, err think, to myself~ **_Sparky replied smugly, chuckling that chuckle that made Theran want to rip it out of its little niche inside his head and stomp on it.

Theran wordlessly growled; three Cerinians who'd been chatting just a few moments before leapt out of the way to let him pass, assuming correctly that they were in his way. He took no notice of them, instead continuing to walk briskly. The Cerinians exchanged curious glances at one another, then as one, dismissed Theran from their minds and went back to their original conversation.

_**~However, now that you've breached the mental silence I've been forced to endure ever since you've left that family back there, I've got a question of my own to ask you~**_

_For the last time, that was a _rhetorical question! Theran would have shouted that last one, except at the last moment he remembered he was in an enemy camp, to all appearances, and the least little misstep would bring his mission down crashing.

_**~Oh, shut up. You are disturbing my mental process, hindering my ability to frame a question~**_

_What is the damn question, Sparky? _Theran asked, now seriously annoyed by its superior tone.

_**~Why didn't you make even the slightest hint of polite conversation with Mr. Randorn back there? There were some mighty good subjects you two could have talked about~**_

Theran halted in misstep; he'd had been expecting something different. _I'll sum it up in a few words: I'm here to get Tristan out, not to talk. _He replied, resuming his walk.

_**~Nine words is definitely not a few~ **_Sparky noted.

_I'll leave the rhetorics to others, then. _Theran amended.

_**~Yet you sounded so eloquent when you spoke to that very pretty vixen back there,~ **_Sparky said slyly.

_I'll just pretend you didn't say that and I didn't hear it, _Theran replied firmly, not going to be nettled.

_**~Back on subject, you and Mr. Randorn do have a great deal in common – oh, now don't you look surprised? Oh yes, you do. Aside from both of you viewing each other's species as able to coexist – hey, hey, let me finish! – you two are both outdoorsmen, have a great dislike of mingling in with crowds, and are masters at your respective crafts. Oh, and your crafts are not at all dissimilar, for more reasons than one, obviously~**_Sparky said.

Theran snorted, loudly, not caring whether he was heard or not; it wouldn't matter anyway. _First off, there is _nothing _that we have in common, nothing! I am a Ranger; he is one of their goddamn Healers. And secondly, there is no way in hell that humanity and the Cerinians can co-exist! It just won't happen!_

_**~So, you're saying they're like oil and water?~ **_Sparky remarked drily.

_Fire and oil is more like it. _Theran snapped, beginning to wonder whether he ought to 'turn off' his side of the conversation and leave Sparky trailing in midsentence; he'd done that a couple of times before and it always took the little voice an hour or two to get Theran's side of the conversation back open, giving him a few Sparky-free moments in which to make decisions unhampered by it.

_**~Oh, come now, don't be so quaint~ **_Sparky replied, sounding like it was about to have a laughing fit.

_I can be quaint if I want to be. _Theran querulously said.

_**~Now you're being facetious – it's not a good habit~ **_Sparky stated, rather than said. Theran hated it when it did that.

_Who are you to tell me what is good and what is not?_ Theran demanded, _I've survived on my own this far without _you _badgering my every step._

_**~Yes you have, with**_ **me** _**badgering your every step of the way~ **_Sparky riposted easily.

_I meant from day to day. _Theran refused to back down.

_**~Even then I was there. I am always there, ready to lend a hand~**_

_Yes, you are _always _there, helping when no one asked you for it! Go take a hike why don't you? _Theran 'yelled' at it, quietly adding, _and why'd you have to state the obvious?_

A rumble of thunder split the air, while a large flash of lightning briefly illuminated the city, turning the night as bright as daytime. Raindrops began falling, first singularly, then with increasing swiftness and speed. Soon even the lights were drowned out by the thickly falling rain; surrounding walkers began to make for shelter, clearing the streets as they did so. The wagoners began to herd their charges to under cover, also clearing the omnipresent traffic-jam Theran had been forced to contend with ever since entering the city; soon, the only people left were him and those few who, for whatever reason, wished to remain outside.

_**~Alrighty then, I'll take a hike the next time you decide to take a stroll up a mountain or through a forest~**_

_I meant by yourself, _Theran said, tugging out a cloak from the depths of his pack and swinging it over his jacket, shielding himself from the rain. This rain wasn't as hard or as fierce as those Northern rains he'd been forced to contend with on his Ranger patrols; in fact, in comparison to those rains, this was a walk in the park.

Sparky chuckled _**~While we are on the subject, what do you plan to be doing when you've completed your mission?~**_

_Oh, err, I don't know, do – do what I always do, like any Ranger does. – Like how does that matter, anyway? _Theran asked, hunched over with the force of the Northerly wind that had come with the storm. It was cold, but again, not as cold as some of those way up North that he'd been in.

_**~Oh, nothing, I was merely curious~ **_Sparky did not say anything more on the subject, leaving Theran to wonder what it meant by it.

_Why am I shuddering at those words? _he asked sarcastically, hoping to goad Sparky into inadvertently revealing what it had left unsaid.

_**~I think it is because you are getting quite soaked through by rain.~ **_Sparky didn't take the bait, _**~Take a left and make a detour to that building over there~ **_It continued, pivoting his head toward the right to a large, twin towered structure just off the street.

_Ha-ha, no thank you. _Theran replied, jerking his head away from the building and continuing to move forward stubbornly.

_**~I insist; you wouldn't be doing Tristan nor your Ranger buddies any favors by dying of a cold here and now would you?~**_

_Oh very funny. Alright, I'll take this so-call detour. _Theran changed direction and walked over the rain-slicked cobblestones to the twin-towered building. _Might I ask, though, what good will this detour do? _He asked as the rain cascaded off of his hat.

_**~Two goods, actually. One, you get closer to the Citadel by sidestepping a huge tangle of streets, Squares, and the inevitable traffic-jams that will occur. Two, there is a little something I want to show you here. It is directly related to my question to you about polite-conversation~ **_Sparky replied, tone neutral.

_Oh, alright then. _Theran shrugged; anything to cut his mission in half was fine by him – sooner he could get to Tristan, the better.

He left the street, crossed the sidewalk, sidestepping one or two Cerinians, and passed through the entrance into a well-lit courtyard sheltered by a large roof. Twelve oil lamps burning brightly on small pillars provided the illumination, highlighting the sudden gloom outside. Two or three others were already here, warming themselves by the lamps. Other than them, the place was deserted.

He crossed the courtyard quickly, not wanting to be seen by the Cerinians, and went through another opening, into a darker room, but nonetheless just as warm. The walls were swallowed up in the darkness, but here and there, at intervals, were torches set in wall brackets; a great arch joined with another met in the center of the ceiling, with four torches casting their faint glow over it. The twin towers of the building were unseen from the inside, but twin doors, on opposite sides of the antechamber, showed that they were there.

Before him were twin brazen doors, one of them open; a chink of golden light shone from within.

Theran glanced around fugitively, but there was no one apart from him in the antechamber. Then he began walking forward at a brisk pace; he wanted to be through and out the other side as quick as possible.

_**~Oh ho, not so fast~**_

_Shut up, you._

Beyond the brazen doors stretched a long, wide room, with benches lining a walkway; at the far end was a raised dais, upon which sat a small table with seven points of light, seemingly hovering in midair. The only other sources of illumination were wall torches and a small chandelier hanging above the dais. Theran was alone in the room, save for one or two others, heads bowed in contemplation.

_Explain; a Temple is what you wanted to show me?_

_**~Not precisely just the Temple; look at the walls~**_

Theran did as he was bidden; set in window recesses were colored windows of glass, each decorated with fantastic scenes, both mythical to domestic. Examples of the mythical were things such as an armored hero wielding a sword against a terrible flame-colored beast or a fairy-like creature (complete with tail, fantastically-colored fur, and that distinctive Cerinian muzzle, of course) hovering in a forest. Examples of the domestic would be such things as a group of children (kits as they were called) playing in a millpond with the mill or suchlike buildings set in the background or a panorama of a mountain pasture, complete with a village nestled in the center. All were stunning pieces of art, which is why they were in the Temple instead of an ordinary building.

_Not much to go by other than that the furries are good artists. _Theran commented.

_**~For the last time, stop calling them that! And no that is not only that, but look at the similarities of the artwork~**_

Theran looked around, and said _I see nothing._

_**~Nevermind then. Where else have you seen work like that?~**_

_Huh, let me guess; the last time I was in a Cerinian village, _Theran replied sarcastically.

_**~Now is not the time to be funny! I mean have you seen work like that done by **_**human **_**artists?~**_

_I'm not exactly a connoisseur of the arts, _Theran replied drily, _do you know where the exit is? _He added, sweeping his gaze from side to side.

_**~Well of course you have. Not pictures like these, but works similar to them~ **_Sparky persisted, ignoring Theran's question, _**~Things like the paintings in the Sistine Chapel or the Book of Kells. Well, not those specifically, since they are lost beyond reach, just that the styles are the same. Does that tell you anything?~**_

_All it tells me is that you are a nutter and the exit is over there, _Theran replied, having finally located the exit to his right; he had started off for it even as Sparky was pointing out the similarities of human masterpieces and Cerinian artwork.

_**~I'll thank you not to change the subject~ **_Sparky said, sounding affronted.

_Look, I don't have time for any –_

_**~ –"Thing but finding Tristan." Yes, I know that is why you are here and not in the forest, but you are deliberately changing the subject!~**_

_I really don't care, Sparky, I really don't, _Theran said firmly, squashing anything the little Guardian might've said. _This is all very interesting, but I don't have the time for it._

_**~You will get time, soon enough~ **_Sparky replied ominously but Theran ignored him.

_Anything else you'd like to get out of the way before I leave? I'll grant you that much, _Theran asked, more to shut Sparky up than anything.

_**~Yes. Open your satchel, please~**_

Theran did so, sitting down upon a bench not too far from the exit. _What am I supposed to be looking for? _he asked, staring at its contents.

_**~Pull out the Cerinian book, please~**_

Theran reached in and pulled out a red-and-black covered book with the title "_Life and knowledge". _He looked at it, turning it over in his hands. _Now what? _he asked.

_**~Pull out the Bible~**_

_What are you trying to do, Sparky? _Theran demanded as he pulled out another red book, but with no black.

_**~Showing you the uncanny resemblance between humanity and the Cerinians. And where does one find it? Why in the religion of course. Now, if you were to open both of them, and compare them, you'll find they are more or less the same. With one, big difference~**_

_Yes, and that difference is that we have the crazier of the two, _Theran replied, stowing the Bible away; it would not look good if he was caught with a human book in his hands. _And besides, _he added _I don't read._

_**~You are being facetious, again. They are the same, with the only difference being that one is right, the other is wrong. If you'll look inside, you'll see that they have an account of how the world, Cerinia or Earth, whichever you choose, was created, a number of accounts detailing the lives of their respective saints, a book or two of sayings applicable to daily life, and two sections, commonly called "Testaments" or scripture. You see any difference there?~**_

_No, and this is wasting my time. _Theran got up (stowing "_Life and Knowledge" _away) turned, and headed for the door.

_**~The difference is,~ **_Sparky continued as if Theran had not said that _**~that the Cerinians do not have a Revelation, the Gospel accounts, nor do they have assurance that they are destined for something higher, much higher, just like humanity has been promised by Emmanuel~**_

_Well, duh, Christ didn't come back a second time, did he? _Theran asked, only half paying attention.

_**~Not necessarily; He'll appear in His own time, as it says in Revelation~ **_Sparky said _**~It's just that the Cerinians have the same destiny as humanity~**_

_Theology aside, how does this relate to me getting Tristan out? _Theran queried, reaching the door.

_**~You could say this was a part of his mission~**_

_Uh-huh, a missionary?_

_**~Not exactly~**_

Sparky said no more on the subject, and Theran liked it that way. He had no business talking about religion anyway. He was a Ranger, not a theologian.

Theran reached the door and prepared to walk through when he collided with someone coming through.

"I am terribly sorry, sir, really am," Theran said automatically, reaching down to help the Cerinian back on his feet.

"It is no matter, you only startled me, that's all," the brown-colored vulpine gasped, putting an arm against the doorframe to steady himself.

"Do you need assistance?"

"No, no, I'll manage." The vulpine leaned against the wall for a moment then regained his balance. "What were you doing here, goodsir?" he asked, looking at Theran curiously.

"An exit. The traffic is awful out there." Theran said, eyes looking out into the darkened recess of the door. "Is this the exit?" he asked. The vulpine shook his head.

"This leads to the sacristy, goodsir. This is where we keep objects belonging to the Temple and robes." The vulpine said, "I am a novice here."

"Oh, err, sorry then. Where is the exit then?" Theran asked, uncomfortably reminded of Sparky's one-sided conversation. He could here it snickering even now in the back of his mind.

"Over there, behind the chancel," the vulpine gestured to behind the dais; there indeed was a door there, half-hidden in shadow. "We novices and Priests use it to leave the sanctuary when the worship is over. It opens onto a nice, uncrowded promenade." He explained.

"Thank you, sir," Theran nodded, "I'll leave you be, then." With that, he turned away and made his way around the dais and through the darkened door. As he passed the dais, he got a closer look at the small table sitting there. Standing upon the table were seven candles, each one lit with a soft glow. He briefly wondered what their significance was, and regretted asking it when Sparky chimed in:

_**~Those represent the Seven Spirits that order the Universe~**_

_Ask and ye shall receive, _Theran thought sourly as he made his way back and out through the door.

_**~Hey, you did ask!~**_

As he left, the young vulpine male watched him go, wondering what made him use the Temple as a shortcut for his destination. He wondered briefly, then dismissed it from his mind. He had other, more important things to do.

He made his way through the Temple and left the way Theran came in.

Outside, the rain sleeted down heavily, completely obscuring the lights.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

On the other side of the Temple, Theran exited the building. He glanced from left to right. To his left rose more and more buildings, especially of the type called insulae, marching down the now empty street. To his right were even more buildings, but dominating them all was the towering structure called the Citadel.

He squared his shoulders, and set off, leaving the rectangle of golden light behind him.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of eyes were watching him, neither those of man nor beast. The eyes were colored green, but not the green of human (or Cerinian) eyes but of a soft, glowing green of something else. The little pair of eyes watched the now thoroughly soaked Cerinian make his way across the street, wondering in its simple mind why such a powerful presence emanated from this particular person. It was joined by two more. One started to float down through the rain to inspect this unusual Cerinian closely, but then _something _compelled it to stop.

That something came from the Cerinian. Ordering them not to unveil themselves, but to wait. Wait? they asked, wondering in confusion.

Yes, wait, but come when I call, the presence told them, then was silent.

Completely bewildered now, the three pairs of eyes obeyed and faded away.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Randorn reclined in his chair, relaxing with a merry fire before him.

He was in one of the five parlors of the _Golden Rood_, separate from the noisy common room. This particular one had windows that opened out onto a crossroads; nothing could be seen outside because of the thunderstorm. If the view was clear one could see the Twin Brothers, Gaelhelemar and Baelaehelsaremar, two ancient kings of Jidxumo, standing proudly over a seven bowled fountain. But as it were the thickly falling rain was such that not even the Festival lights could be seen – if they hadn't been doused by the downpour already.

The parlor was not opulent or ornate by any stretch of the imagination as some of the first-class Inns were (some of them were _too_ impressive if one could get that way) but it was comfortable enough for an Inn of its kind. Like any Cerinian dwelling, from the highest country-palace to the lowliest farmhouse, the walls were covered in all manner of paintings, frescoes, murals, mosaics, and geometric patterns. Several large, well-padded armchairs were grouped around the fireplace, each positioned so that the occupant received the greatest, possible amount of light and warmth. Grouped around the wide windows to get the best possible view (in good weather that is) were several tables, each one with three or more chairs. Lying upon the floor, also worked in impressive pictures and patterns, were several old rugs, each done in muted colors. The entire room gave an impression of warmth and friendliness, designed for weary travelers to relax after a long journey, as Randorn was doing.

Upon the walls were many fantastic scenes; faerie-folk (satyrs, fauns, pixies, leprechauns, etc); mythical beasts (dragons, pegasi, unicorns, griffins, krakens, ect); elemental folk (sylphs, undines, salamanders, gnomes, and a host of others not related to the Four Elements); dark-folk (daemons, trolls, orcs, goblins, were-creatures, etc); and the ordinary flora and fauna of everyday life. Intertwined with these fantastic images were geometric designs that complemented and accented the scenery.

The door to the common room was closed, but a dull murmur came through the wood paneling; contented drowsiness, with many of the patrons thinking about leaving for home or retiring to their rooms. Other than that the building was silent.

The parlor was empty except for Randorn and his eldest daughter, Kurisutaru, who was dozing by the windows, arms and legs splayed helter-skelter everywhere, head against the rain-streaked window. Some kind soul had laid a blanket over her, protecting her from the slight chill emanating from the glass. Krystal was upstairs, sleeping with friends, worn-out from her long day; she was barely able to stand when they had reached the Inn, and had to be supported the last few steps of the way – she had dropped off.

Now Randorn was able to spend a few quiet moments before he too retired for the night; reflecting on the events that sent him and his daughters on this journey. It had started when he had let slip of how tired he was of his work and wanted some rest. Of course he did not mean what he said, for he loved his work, loved Healing the villagers of Merryvale - he would never had considered leaving the village for something like a vacation, even for a rest from the work his father, his grandfather, great-grandfather and all of his kindred before him had always done.

But he had not counted on the female sex. Both Krystal and Kurisutaru, for once in their lives, had united to pressure him into taking a long break from the endless work, both for their own reasons; Krystal, because she wanted to explore other, newer places; Kurisutaru, because she too wanted a rest from her work of tending the household. Randorn might have been able to waive their objections, had it not been for his two apprentices following the Healing trade.

Both Tyath and Tadethdre had naturally seen this as their opportunity to put their skills to good use; both of them wanted to manage on their own for a while anyway, while their Elder in the Healing craft took a much needed rest. That was their reasoning anyway. But even they would have been eventually overcome by Randorn's gentle resistance. And so they had enlisted the help of their families. And their families, who were very prominent in the social life of Merryvale, had enlisted the help of the entire village. And so, bowed under the pressure from all sides, Randorn conceded.

The packing was quick, and the destination set; it was drawing near to the annual Festival and what better place to celebrate it than to go to a city? His initial suggestion of going to Jidnukoh was squashed; by common consensus it was too close to home, and they'd visited it too often anyway. Everyone else, however, was in favor of going to the capital city, where the Festival would also be celebrated. It was unanimous; everyone going on the trip except Randorn voted in favor of going to Jidxumo. And so he gave up the fight and resigned himself to "officially" keep an eye on his eldest daughter, Kurisutaru. But everyone knew, as well as himself, that she was in no danger; she had all of the young Merryvale males not mated firmly under her spell and she loved to be a flirt. It was all harmless, as he fully knew well.

During the trip (it was a very long one, for he was not as young as he once was) he kept his eyes on his daughters, quickly realizing that it was Krystal who needed the attention more than Kurisutaru; she had literally vanished the first day and never came back until nightfall, traveling throughout the unfamiliar landscape, doing as much as she pleased. He cornered her on the first night and extracted a promise from her that she would tell him where she would vanished to so that he could check in on her via Mindspeech - it was important to know ones location in order to have a fix on their mental proximity. But it can be circumnavigated if one exerted enough effort, though Krystal did not attempt it.

Nothing of interest had occurred on the trip except the usual - Krystal getting into trouble. There had been that time in Jidhojk when they'd left her behind for three whole days before anyone had realized she was missing. They'd all assumed she was with friends somewhere in the Merryvale caravan, for Randorn had forbidden her to go anywhere during the last couple hundred kays to Jidxumo. When they found out it had caused something akin to panic and would have lengthened their journey considerably but that had been quickly eased when Krystal had shown up, looking ashamed of herself, with two middle-aged vulpines who, upon learning of who she was and where she was from, set off in pursuit of the caravan. That had put an end to her days of roaming until they'd reached the city - or, officially at least. She could move about, but never more than one or two kays away.

And then there was that incident in the jungle right outside of Jidxumo, when she ran into another traveler and cut his trip short by forcing him to herd her back to the road. Randorn smiled a bit at that. He'd cleverly gotten the truth from little Krystal without asking too many questions, and she'd never knew he had done so when Kurisutaru caused a brief diversion. There were times when that sisterly feud was useful.

The fire crackled and spat a few sparks into the air.

And then later on when they were in the Jidxumo Valley, both Krystal and Kurisutaru got into a fight that he couldn't break up on his own, and would have been forced to wait it out had a stranger not interfered. Rather than taking exception to him interfering, he had invited the stranger (Theran, that was his name, Randorn remembered) to finish his journey with them, much to the displeasure of his daughters. And then to his surprise, as they were getting the wagon back on the road, he had recognized Theran to be the exact same traveler that Krystal had run across in the forest. And a few minutes later, learned his name when Krystal, too, had recognized him.

Theran had seemed a little distant, overly quiet for a Cerinian, but then that was to be expected with his profession. Foresters were not known to be social creatures and this one was no exception to that rule. He seemed content to let Randorn do the talking, occasionally answering when required, but otherwise, silent. However, later on when they were asleep (mostly) he'd overheard Theran talking to Kurisutaru and discovered that he was quite lively; and quite in agreement with him on many of the same things, such as how the humans in the far North were not so different from the Cerinians - even if he didn't quite phrase it that way.

A burst of lightning briefly lit up the room, then faded away, the firelight pale in comparison, with a crack of thunder following it a short while later.

He would have had Theran come and lodge with them but once he had heard Kurisutaru explain the forester's reasons for coming to the city (before, he'd found it odd that a loner would come to Jidxumo at the height of the Festival) he'd let it go. There were some things that the young found too important, and sometimes they were right. Now if only the forester had asked for some help then Randorn would have something to do other than to "relax" because in his line of work, relaxation was something he could never afford. But, he sighed, things never worked out as you intend.

But there were some things he could do while everyone else was having fun. Jidxumo was known for its extensive libraries and there were some mighty good books on Healing, mental Healing, medicinal plants, medical procedures and techniques that he could spend his time on. Upon reflection, he thought, this trip was perhaps a blessing in disguise; he now had some time to learn things that a mere, lowly village Healer would perhaps not ever know. And then he could pass that knowledge on to his apprentices, and Merryvale would be better off than it had been in his father's time.

He felt his eyelids drooping and knew that it was time for bed before he too dozed off like Kurisutaru did not too long ago. He, with great reluctance, heaved himself out of his comfortable chair and turned his back upon the fire. He made his way over to where Kurisutaru slept and gently began to shake her awake.

"Wh - what's - going on?" Kurisutaru mumbled as her eyes opened slowly.

"It's time to go upstairs, child," Randorn said gently. "Come along now. The sooner you go up, the faster you can go back to sleep."

"I don't want to leave..." she was starting to drift back to sleep, but Randorn prevented her, saying "You must. Come along now."

With a sigh that Randorn echoed silently, Kurisutaru swung herself out of the chair, keeping the blanket wrapped around her. Together they started to make their way out of the parlor and into the common room. Outside the common room was a good deal quieter than it had been when they first came to the _Golden Rood_; only one or two latecomers were still sitting at the tables, and even they were close to being done with their meals or conversations. Soon they too would leave and head for home or bed.

As they departed the parlor, a servant slipped in behind them. Randorn knew that he was going to douse the fire for the night. The _Golden Rood _was many things, but an all-nighter was not one of them. It, like its many patrons, was winding down for the night. Randorn and Kurisutaru reached the stairs and were about to ascend when the door to the _Rood _opened and closed, sending a gust of cold wind throughout the warm room. Kurisutaru shivered and Randorn looked back to see who had come at this late hour; perhaps it was Theran, his business resolved and he'd taken up on Randorn's offer?

Instead, he saw a young man taking off a dripping raincoat, and the color of his fur was not ultramarine - it was the same shade of brown, just like Randorn's. An Inn servant came to take the cloak and hung it up while the young man moved over to the common room fire to warm up. Randorn turned away, disappointed. He assisted Kurisutaru up the stairs, down the hall, and to their room at the far end.

He opened the door and let her through. But before he could go through the portal himself, a voice behind him spoke, saying, "There you are! I'd thought I'd had just missed you!" There was something familiar about that voice, one he'd not heard in a very long time, not since Kurisutaru was a little kit.

He closed the door and turned to face the speaker, only to get engulfed by a dark form smelling of wet fur. It took him only a moment to recognize the newcomer, and the revelation stunned him.

"Sabre?"

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

A/N: A note on Krystal's fur color. I've seen many fanfictions give her fur-color as cerulean-blue, cobalt-blue, sapphire-blue, sky-blue (though in SF: Adventures that is not too far from the truth), and turquoise-blue. I've gone through the Wiktionary looking up _every single _representation of the color blue and comparing them to Krystal's fur color as seen in SF: Assault several times. It is neither.

However I found ultramarine, which to me is the closest, possible color blue for Krystal no matter what SF game she is in, whether it is Adventures, Assault, or Command. Ultramarine, unless you wish to check out the Wiktionary article on it, is: **Ultramarine: **_Noun;_ (1)a brilliant blue pigment that is either extracted from mineral deposits or made synthetical; (2) (colour) a brilliant pure dark blue or slightly purplish colour.

This, I hope, is what Krystal's _true _color blue is.


	4. Fate Beckons

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

_**Fate Beckons**_

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

_**The Ancients - **_**Two Steps from Hell - **(Spotify, YouTube, iTunes)

* * *

_**Few things are impossible to diligence and skill.**_

"Sabre?"

Randorn could not believe his eyes. Before him stood his eldest son, still wet from the gale outside, grinning like a maniac, and crushing him in a bear hug that nearly sent his eyes popping out.

"In the flesh, Father!" Sabre replied, releasing his father, still wearing that stupid grin, "By the Seven Spirits, it is so good to see you again after all of these years!"

"Ye - yes it... it... it is," Randorn wheezed, clutching his chest "Wh- what have you be - been doing... all of this... time?" He asked, still trying to catch his breath.

"Mostly traveling up and down the kingdom, but recently I've settled down here in Jidxumo," Sabre answered, eyes still twinkling. "Come on, let's go down to the Common Room where we can talk more freely; I've already stirred up enough trouble as it is." He added, grinning. Sure enough heads were peeking out from open doors, wondering who was making such a racket at this time of night. One or two looked as if they'd been fast asleep before Sabre awoke them.

Taking his father by the arm, Sabre escorted him down the hall and to the stairs.

"You said you were traveling?" Randorn asked as they descended the stairs, "Where, might I ask?"

"Oh, here and there and everywhere." Sabre answered as they neared the common room. "Actually, all over Giliathdôr, Menniathdôr, Dalathdôr, etc. In a nutshell, virtually everywhere on Cerinia, even to Firendôr, the home of the humans in the North."

"I see you're well-versed in the ancient tongue," Randorn commented, "But where did you learn it? It had mostly vanished during the Dark Times."

"Oh, while knowledge of the Old Tongues have disappeared down here in the South of Giliathdôr, the kingdoms of the north - those bordering the human lands - retain them. In fact, it is a common tongue in some of the cities, with the Common Tongue as a secondary language." By then the two vulpines had reached the bottom of the stairs and before the Common Room. The fire was still burning brightly, casting shadows that flickered and danced among the furniture. Other than the fire, the lights of the Inn had been doused. Two others still occupied their seats, and they only looked up briefly their entrance. One was nursing a glass of wine, the other looking as if he'd been disturbed out of a dream, and went promptly back into a doze.

Sabre's eyes moved over the room, finally alighting on a table next to the door and underneath a window. The glass showed nothing outside but a blue-black darkness as the thunderstorm raged outside. He motioned to his father, and together, they moved over to the table under the window. Sabre pulled out a chair for Randorn, then when the former was seated, took a seat opposite him. An Inn servant came over to them and Sabre ordered a pair of watered ales. That done, the servant disappeared, and Sabre leaned back into his chair, a silhouette against the rain-lashed glass.

"So, Father," he asked as they waited for the drinks, "What have you been up to while I was off traveling?"

"Doing the usual," Randorn replied, grateful to relax his body in the chair, though he'd have to keep guard against the possibility of falling asleep. "Healing the Merryvale villagers, the surrounding villages, going to Jidnukoh for things that I cannot make or grow myself, and keeping my two daughters out of trouble." He sighed, "Sometimes I wished you'd never left, Sabre. Those two are more trouble than a pack of wolves. I keep them separated most of the time, but it doesn't seem to work."

Sabre nodded, sympathy showing in his brown eyes. "I understand, father. Do you have any help in controlling them? No, not controlling, that's too harsh a word: disciplining is better."

"Plenty, but while I appreciate it, I need someone to be there, someone who could _keep_ them under control and not have to spend his time running around keeping them that way; I'm too old to do this sort of thing anymore. You'd think they would have grown out of it, but no." Randorn paused, then looked at his son with interest. "Could you possibly come home? Your traveling must have brought you into contact with all sorts of Healing skills. You could benefit Merryvale."

But to his disappointment Sabre shook his head, sending a few water droplets flying. "No, Father, I cannot." he said, as gently as possible. "I have settled down here in Jidxumo, not because I wanted to, but because the Spirits want me to. I am now a novice in the Temple. And while I have learned many different skills, techniques, and abilities, I was never a good Healer, not like you."

"I had hoped you would have followed in my footsteps," Randorn said, even more disappointed. Of course, that was irrational; he had two other apprentices back home to take the torch when his time to leave the world came. But still, he'd hoped his own son would have followed him in his trade. It was tradition that the sons should follow in the father's footsteps. Even the fathers of his apprentices were once Healers, before injuries or other things forced them to stop their trade.

"But father, in a way, I am a Healer. It's just that while you Heal the hurts of the body and mind, I Heal the hurts of the soul," Sabre explained, "And the Holy Father of the Temple was also a Healer before he too was called to the service of the Seven." he smiled slightly, "So I am, in a way, following in your footsteps, but in a different fashion."

Randorn nodded his agreement. "Who is the Holy Father of your Temple?" he asked, as the Inn servant returned with the ale.

Sabre tipped the servant, and as he disappeared, replied, "Oh, none other than Father Marathroaer. I'm sure you remember him?" he added, taking a sip of the frothy liquid, and shuddered a moment later. "I'd forgotten how bitter this stuff can be," he said, by way of explanation.

"You mean the very same Marathroaer who left Merryvale all of those years ago?" Randorn exclaimed, "Oh yes, I remember him. He and I were once the best of friends before we went our separate ways." his eyes misted over as he remembered some of the more exciting times he and Marae (an old nickname that everyone called him by) had done, some of which were not much different than what Krystal and her own clique of friends got up to these days. "Yes I do. How is he?"

"At the moment, recuperating from an illness; and the rain would've made it impossible for him to accompany me anyway, though he wanted to come." Sabre said, sounding a little tense, for an unknown reason. "He'd be pleased to know that you'd answered his letter."

At that Randorn frowned. "What letter?" he asked. The firelight flickered for a moment; Sabre's eyes glanced over at the sudden movement, but saw nothing.

"Didn't you come because of Father Marathroaer's plea?" he asked, "He sent it only a few weeks back, around the time you would've left Merryvale."

At that Randorn laughed. "I didn't come here of my own free will, that I can assure you of." he said, chortling uncontrollably, "Everyone in the village forced me to go, everyone from youngsters to greybeards." By youngsters he meant young men and women in their twenties or thirties; while as to "greybeards" (a biological impossibility as the vulpine physique was different from that of the human: and so he used it only as an idiom - an idiom peculiar to Northerners, as Southerners had no concept of "beards.") he meant those his age (around fifty years) and older.

"Then you came here not knowing why we wanted you to come?" Sabre asked, his tone still somber.

"Yes, I've told you, everyone from my own children to the villagers." Randorn continued, not quite grasping what Sabre was getting at. "Why?" he asked, "was there any reason I should be here?"

"Yes." Sabre replied.

"Why, then?"

"We have, err, a man possessed of a daemon, or so we've been told," Sabre said, eyes no longer twinkling; in fact, looking older or as old as Randorn. "No, he is not in the Temple, though if I had my way that is where he would be. No, the administration has insisted on keeping him in the Citadel, inside a dungeon."

"Why would they do that?" Randorn queried, at last noticing his drink beside him; he picked it up, took a sip (not shuddering as Sabre did), and set it back down. "It would be logical to put him in a place where the daemons cannot abide; the Citadel is about as holy as I am, and that is a fact," he added, only half-joking. "Besides, why me? You have priests and MindHealers everywhere; I am only a simple village Healer, not particularly skilled at anything."

"That is precisely why we need you," Sabre answered, a look of desperation clouding his normally cheerful features. "We've done everything we can to expel the daemon and send it back to the hells; but it has eluded our efforts. The administration won't listen to us, and so we cannot put him in a Temple. Why we need _you _is because you're an outsider, someone whom the daemon does not recognize and would be unable to defend against."

Randorn shook his head, "Sabre, Sabre, I've told you, I am only a simple village Healer, not a miracle worker. And besides, the thing which you speak of seems to me to be out of my depth. The kindest thing to do would be to put the poor soul out of his misery."

Sabre also shook his head, "No, Father, no. This man is important to the administration and they won't do it; we've suggested it before, but they will not listen. And they do not want the rest of the city knowing we've a madman inside the government itself." He paused, as if suddenly remembering something. "And another thing, whatever you've said, you aren't a lowly village Healer; you've the power of one of the Mage Lords of old, when it comes to the mind. I've seen you in action; I know you can do it!"

"Sabre, how many times have I told you? I cannot do this!" Randorn protested, bringing his fist down on the table with a soft _thud _in emphasis, "I have my own children to watch over, an entire village and all of its dependents to take care of. This would take all of my time, and time I cannot spare. And I am not as young as I once was."

"At least come and take a look, Father," Sabre said, pleadingly, "Please, all you have to do is come and take a look at him. Then you can say "Yea" or "Nay" about it. At least you'd have taken a look at him."

Randorn sat back, and thought over Sabre's words. Of course what he said was perfectly true; he could go there and take a look at the poor man before deciding his course of action. But if he didn't go, he'd condemn the poor man to a life of suffering, especially if the administration still refused to relieve his torment. At that would weigh heavily against his conscience; it would haunt him for the rest of his days, even if he hadn't known about this until ten minutes ago. And, he suddenly realized, that was probably why old Marae was ill; he had pitted his strength against the daemon and came away second best. And that would explain why his son, Sabre, had come to talk to him instead of the Holy Father.

And it wouldn't hurt, just to take a look. He'd come to see the possessed, and return for a nights sleep, and then set out to do the Healing. That and the possible physical injuries that the daemon might have inflicted on him - unless he'd been restrained to prevent that. And Krystal and Kurisutaru would never need to know. Nothing to spoil their holiday. Simple as that.

"All right then, Sabre, I'll come," he said, standing up, "But only to take a look at him; it's late and I cannot stay awake much longer."

Sabre also stood up, relief visibly spreading across his face. "Thank you, father," he said, "you've taken a load off of my mind and Father Marathroaer's. Let's go." He started for his coat hanging on the wall.

"Hold on there, youngster," Randorn said, chuckling, "I'm not as young as I once was. Let me go get my things." And with that, he went, leaving an excitable Sabre half-dancing with impatience behind him. It took him only a few minutes to slip into his room (careful not to disturb a sleeping Kurisutaru on the other side of the room), fetch his cloak and staff, and then return back downstairs.

"Let us go now, Father." Sabre said, standing by the door, tail twitching uncontrollably. Randorn nodded as he swung his cloak around his shoulders. Then a moment later, they went out into the gale outside.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

The rain was bad enough but the wind was beyond endurance. Buffeted this way and that by the gale that howled its way through the now empty streets was a single figure staggering his way onward, almost in defiance of the elements. His cloak flapped around his soaking wet body while his hat threatened to fly away, neither providing any protection in the slightest, only serving to benumb his left hand as he struggled to keep hold on them (right hand simultaneously holding his hat and protecting his face). That and the Cerinian disguise was completely unsuited to such weather.

Theran's "ears" hugged the sides of his head as the wind whistled through them, "tail" pressed flat against his back but feeling all the more damp despite the wind, and his eyes (human, Cerinian, it was all the same) were almost sealed shut, even with his hand shielding it. All in all, this was the worst storm he'd been in - or at least, the only storm he had to endure in a mission. All others he spent somewhere else: under a tree, bush, or a cave, and once even out in the open, lying flat on the ground, hoping that the lightning would strike elsewhere. Now here he was, in a city of all the places, being tormented by the very same gale he'd normally would have spent under cover.

Unfortunately, his mission was against that. Rescuing Tristan, who, by all accounts (his superiors', and Sparky's), was being held somewhere in the vast defensive edifice that overlooked the city, and that was only a couple hundred meters away, thank goodness. But unfortunately the wind was behind him and not the Citadel, offering no protection whatsoever. It would have had he'd taken the trouble to circumnavigate the city until he was on the lee side but, again, his mission prevented that, and so he was resigned to the inevitable - going the hard way.

Why is it that everything seemed to be against him?

_At least the furries are nice and dry and warm in their cozy little homes, _he thought somewhat regretfully. If his mission had _not _had a time limit, he would have been waiting out this storm in some Inn this city seemed to abound with. _I should've taken up that Cerinian's offer - what was his name, anyway?_

_**~You hypocrite. Just a half an hour ago you were complaining about the Cerinians - now look at you!~**_

_Yeah, soaking wet, _Theran replied, shielding his face with his hand again as he ploughed onward. Just a couple meters more and he'd be in the square before the Citadel. And then he'd have to find a way to get in.

_**~And that Cerinian whose name you've forgotten - what, it must have been an hour ago that you're talking to him - is Mr. Randorn. I never knew your memory was that forgetful, or am I missing something here?~**_

_Yes you're missing somethin' here, _Theran thought quietly to himself. There was that occasional time when he could have a thought to himself, which was a good thing, or he'd have gone mad long ago. _I forget things that I don't like._

The decorations that marked the Cerinian celebration were gone: blown off by the wind, or (more likely) taken down right before the storm hit. The only things that weren't gone were the flaming pillars - or those few that hadn't been blown out by the wind and rain. And even those were being assaulted fiercely, just on the brink of being put out completely. The only lights not affected by the storm were those in the surrounding buildings - or those that he could see. The wind and rain, combined with the nighttime, made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of him, and made any kind of light dim.

Oh, and the cobblestones were slick with rain, making it hard for him to keep his footing. If he slipped and somehow broke an ankle then he'd have no one but himself to blame. Oh the cruel ironies of fate. Why did it have to be him?

_**~As I seem to point out every few hours or so, you were the only choice available. Oh, and the factor of you being a loose cannon also prompted the decision~**_

_How does my being a loose cannon have to do with me being sent on the mission?_

_**~The Powers that Be are hoping that some of your "intractability" could be taken away. That and opening your eyes~**_

Theran snorted: He'd survived this long just the way he was, and he wasn't gonna change just because some bureaucrat disliked it. He was a Ranger, and that was the way he was. No exceptions.

In the course of the discussion Theran had at last made it to the central Great Square, a large plaza stretching several hundred feet across. In its center was another one of those ever present statues; this time it was a tall vulpine clothed in voluminous robes with large sleeves. Its hood was down, but that made no difference as all of the Cerinians looked alike in one way or another - and the darkness made it impossible to see anything more than a dark shape anyway. On the opposite side of the plaza there were no streets or bridges but an endless wall, divided in the center by ranks of ascending stairs, moving upward until he cricked his neck just trying to follow them to their source. Every three steps or so were more statues flanking the edges, alternating between armored warriors and robed vulpines. Some of the warriors wore crowns instead of helms or were bareheaded, while the robed ones had their hoods down. In daylight, it would have been possible to distinguish many, many colors in widely different hues and shades; but, as it were, the only colors were the utilitarian black and grey, with hints of yellow from distant lights disrupting the monotony.

All in all, a dismal place.

The Citadel itself had vanished completely in the darkness, but from the vague hints here and there, Theran was able to discern that it was huge; a great, vast edifice stretching possibly hundreds of meters in the air - surpassing the ancient human wonders of old. But from what he could see of it, it was just a wide black wall stretching from end to end of the Great Square and beyond it, broken only by the stairs ascending upwards in the center.

_**~Nothing you and I can handle~**_Sparky said confidently. Theran said nothing, but set off immediately across the plaza, ignoring for a moment the harshness of the rain and the pummeling of the wind; once he was inside, he'd have no need to worry about it, at least until he had to get out. But then there was the possibility that it would end. A small glimmer of hope, however small, brightened his disposition, though no smile crossed his face.

Halfway across the plaza he paused and looked up at the statue. _Say, Sparky, _he asked, _What is that guy up there? _This was the first instance of a variation in the statuary he'd seen in all the time he been in the city - not counting the ones going up the stairs.

_**~Funny you should ask that. I thought you're going to go get Tristan, and never mind the local history of the animals~**_Sparky quipped.

_Fine then. Just wondering, that's all. _Theran turned away from the monolith and continued on his way. Actually, the reason he wanted to know was because a nearly forgotten childhood memory had pushed its way to the forefront of his mind when he'd noticed the statue - a small figurine of a vulpine had appeared in his mind, but clouded and obscure like the real one. He probed a bit more at the memory as he ascended the stairway, trying to get more than just a vague notion that he'd seen it somewhere before, then gave up. It was useless, trying to remember something that he'd most likely had seen when he was a child - and those kinds of memories were always notoriously hard to recall. Though there was the one exception…

He pushed that one down before it could stir; it was not something he'd wanted to examine at this time, particularly when he had a job to do, and the added factor that he was in a city of telepaths - sleeping or no. He wouldn't want to trust his Shields at this time, not when he was all tensed up - emotion had this funny way of breaking through anything, no matter how strong that something was.

_**~I am more than capable enough to prevent you broadcasting the cries of a frightened child throughout a city full of telepathic aliens~ **_Sparky said, with none of its usual sarcasm. In fact, there was a hint of sympathy in its voice, as if it too felt his sorrow. But then again it had more or less been present in his mind ever since he could remember. _**~Interestingly enough, this is the first time, in what, several years since you've joined the Ranger Corps, that you've started to reflect upon your past. You don't strike me as the kind of man who introspects often, even with my prodding~**_

_It was nothing, nothing at all. Just something about that statue brought it up, that is all, _Theran replied as he reached the top of the broad stairway. Stretching out before him was a long, long promenade, inlaid with tiles intricately arranged in fantastic patterns - if it had been light, he would've seen colors too. On either side of the wide platform, side by side, were fourteen gigantic statues - male and female equally divided. They were all uniformly armored and helmeted, hands interlaced over naked swords, whose points rested on the ground between their feet. Some of these statues even had hoods over their helms; all had capes, each one inlaid with its own heraldic pattern that, unfortunately, was hidden.

_**~Just something about the statue?~**_

_Yes, and stop badgering me about it._

On the opposite side of the elevated promenade, directly across from him, were three monolithic pylons side-by-side before the Main Entrance, going back in three ranks. Even from this distance he could tell that there were patterns engraved upon them - just a mere hint, but that was enough. Two more statues stood on either side of the pylons, holding spears instead of swords. Stone representations of banners hung down from the spears, each presumably also with heraldic designs engraved. A lone light shone through the Main Entrance, split into three sections by the obelisks. Seen through the darkness it was faintly reassuring, and it emboldened Theran considerably. After casting glances from side to side, checking for any tell-tale signs of guards hidden in the shadows, he set off, moving quickly for he had no wish to remain in the cold rain any longer than necessary.

_**~Badgering you? I did nothing of the sort. I only made the distinction that your remembrance of the statue had brought up another memory, presumably connected to it. You're only jumping at shadows~**_

_Okay then, you win._

_**~Nothing of the sort; there was never an argument~**_

Soon he had passed underneath the first of the pylons and went behind it. He took off his pack and rummaged through it for another cloak that was drier and warmer than his current one. After locating it, he swung it around his shoulders and moved on. Beyond the stone squares was a wide open hall, supported by pillars carved in the shape of even more vulpine statues. Theran spared no glances; he was on the very threshold of the enemy, and it quickened his pace.

Beyond the entrance hall, and a huge pair of fifty-foot high stone (or metal) doors only half-open, was the Citadel proper. It too was a large Hall, but wider and with bridges stretching towards the walls every couple hundred feet on the edges, an abyss between them. Tall pillars, designed like the obelisks outside, rose up into the air. Stone arches connected them with one another, each joining at the apex with the ceiling, each one carved to resemble the ribs of some prehistoric beast of long ago. Balconies went from pillar to pillar and joining to the distant walls on either side of the Hall; vast heraldic banners of long forgotten lords and nobles hung from them, while flags of ancient nations adorned the stone ribs above. All of this he took in with a glance as he strode forward quickly, eager to not alert any guards. Speaking of which, where were they?

_**~Two reasons. First and foremost is that it is raining, and this Hall is hardly suitable for warmth, even with their fur coats. Second is that the Citadel is both a government center and an historic landmark. In other words, we're in a public place, not the fortress itself, which is why the doors were open~**_

_Oh great, this just makes my day. First, not knowing if there are gonna be bashers waiting for me round a corner, and second, just how _big _is this thing? _Theran demanded, speeding his gait until he was running, regardless of Sparky's reassurance.

_**~Far bigger than the inside of the Giza Necropolis, and far taller than the Burj Khalifa - and that's only a third of its total size. Wait until it is daytime, if you care to stick around. As a point of comparison, think of it as the man-made version of Olympus Mons~ **_Sparky chuckled _**~As for "goons" I'm sure you can handle yourself against them~**_

_Far bigger than… Jesus Christ! when did they have the time to build all of this? _Theran exclaimed, _And that's assuming you aren't pulling my leg._

_**~Please do not take the Lord thy God's name in vain~ **_Sparky replied, _**~Which also brings up the mention of the very same statue that we'd just passed in the plaza outside~**_

Theran rolled his eyes as Sparky spoke and, when the former had finished, asked, _Alright then, tell me about it. _It was better than nothing, especially that _other _memory which was trying to force its way through to his awareness.

_**~I thought you didn't want to know anything about the animals?~**_

_Okay, for once, I am interested! _Theran yelled, increasing his pace even more until he was sprinting - very fast. _Now get on with it!_

_**~Hehehe! very well then~ **_Sparky replied, laughter coloring it's voice, _**~Way, way back before the infamous Dark Times and before the time of their Golden Age (actually their first and only one), Jidxumo was a simple village - I won't go into specifics about it, since that is not the point of this discussion -, an unknown and unremarkable little fishing village. It might have remained that way had it not caught one of the Cerinian Mages' eye~**_

_Hang on, _Theran interrupted, _What does this have to do with magic? And anyway magic doesn't exist, so what is the point of bringing into this story you're telling me?_

_**~Hush you. Magery in those days was simply their name for telepaths, for back then telepathy was not the racial phenomena it is today; and it wasn't even remotely connected to Magery of the Dark Times. That was real Magery, despite your objections. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Now this is the part where most (if not all) Cerinian histories have gotten wrong. The Mage that became Jidxumo's forerunner was female and not male, which also makes your assessment out on the Plaza wrong~**_

Sparky paused; Theran waited impatiently for it to resume. _**~Her name was Sheianna, and it was just that. Nothing to affiliate her to any tribe, nation, or powerful noble, just that simple name, even as odd it might sound. Well, as I was saying, she founded the Citadel - though it was little more than a keep protecting an insignificant village. But, as things work out, Mages attract many things, and one of those things was more people, and there you have it~**_

_That's it? _Theran asked, unable to believe that this long rambling contained so little information - not that he wanted it, anyway. But it served its purpose in keeping his mind occupied; the sluggish memory had fully retreated into the depths of his mind - and nothing, not even the Cerinians, could retrieve it, not unless he willed it.

_**~Just about~ **_Sparky replied.

_Just when you couldn't get any more wackier, you surprise me by getting even more so! _Theran responded.

_**~I am only as crazy as you; and that is nil, as you aren't crazy~ **_Came the retort.

Theran had left the Hall behind long ago, thanks to his running; now he was speeding down some corridor that still was not the fortress part. Like the Hall it was decorated gaudily, with alien paintings and carvings adorning the walls. Banners, too, also covered the walls, making some sort of pattern with their diverse colors and markings; but he wasn't interested in that, not one bit. After some time, he came to an intersection of hallways and stopped dead in his tracks. He peered down one hall, then another, but all looked alike to his untutored eyes: hell, he'd been running blind through the damn place with only vague promptings from his uncooperative "partner" to guide him.

_Where is Tristan? Can't you sense his mind? _Theran asked, looking this way and that, trying to determine which hallway to go down.

_**~These things are a bit tricky, as he has undoubtedly spent weeks being tortured, deprived of basic needs, and isolated from everyone except his captors, which makes sensing him hard. Oh, and I have to be careful about it as there are literally thousands of telepaths (soldiers mostly, but there are a few others) inside, and so, as we're outsiders, I have to cover my tracks as I go~**_

_A lot of help you are._

_**~I was under the impression you didn't need it anyway~**_

_Under certain circumstances. Now shut up. _Theran said, finally choosing the hallway on his left, trusting his gut-instinct: it might not be the best choice, but any choice was better than letting the furries finding an unauthorized Cerinian running about their stronghold, even if he were in the "public" area. He started down it, sprinting as hard and fast as he could. Sooner he could find Tristan the -

_**~On your left, straight on down till you come to a pair of blue double-doors, then take the right, go down the stairway that you'll come across and continue on until I get my bearings again~ **_Sparky said, cutting into his thoughts.

Theran took the next portal and went down the hall.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Krystal lay awake, unable to get back to sleep. A few minutes ago, she had been disturbed out of slumber by a commotion outside the door. Now those noisy, inconsiderate vulpines had moved downstairs and she was left to try to get back to sleep. But no matter how often she turned and twisted on her bed, she could simply not get back to sleep.

All around her other vulpines also lay slumbering; her friends and those she knew only slightly (and that in itself was a rarity as she was quite social), all sleeping peacefully and deeply. Undisturbed by anything. Their thoughts, if she wished to look at (from the Outside, of course - you couldn't _see _other people's thoughts as you yourself might see them as) would only be a blurring of vague colors and dim sounds, and, if she exerted herself and did not arouse the Protectors, vague hints of sights, scents, and sensations that would, inevitably, "leak" through the Shields. But as to what their dreams might be, she had no idea, and didn't want to know anyway. Sometimes, if you weren't careful, you could be sucked into the alien mind and not get out until the person let you out or they woke up; and if it was a nightmare - well, some things were better left alone.

After long minutes of futilely tossing and turning in vain efforts to return to her dream - something about a warm place bathed in bright lights and with soft, angelic voices singing - she gave up, and rose from where she lay, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

The room that greeted her was dark, warm, and with shadowy shapes that suggested furniture and pictures on the walls - which, to her, was a dark grey-white. A small chink of golden light showed at the bottom of the door; a soft, diffused sort of light, one that came from a candle at the end of the stairs, not a bright, harsh sort of light as one of the elemental lights that lined the walls would project. Little to no sound came through the walls; and the only sounds that did came from the Common Room below, and those were close to silence. About ten others were in the same room as her, half of which she knew, the other half, did not. And not one of them showed the same "awake" state of mind that she was in.

Slowly, as to not wake any of the others, she moved her legs to the edge of the bed, and slid her feet silently to the floor. Carefully, as the floorboards would creak, she stepped over and around cots until she was by the window. It was closed against the storm outside, but that did not prevent the cracks and rumbles of thunder from sounding, nor did it hide the sometimes incredibly bright flashes of lightning from lighting up the room. But her room had an advantage over the rest of the Inn. By a peculiar arrangement of the surrounding buildings, her side of the Inn was protected from the fury of the wind; but that did not mean it was safe from the rain, but even that was not as bad as it could be.

A clash of thunder sounded again, sounding louder than ever before; a moment later, some of the brightest lightning bolts lanced across the sky, some striking one another. It was in various colors, but the most prominent were blue and white, usually a combination of the two.

She leaned against the windowsill, her warm breath misting the glass. She remembered some of the stories Father would tell her, long ago, the stories about how the storms were an example of the conflict between the old gods of Cerinia, back when the worship of the Seven Spirits was unknown. The gods had represented the primeval forces of order and chaos fighting an epic, eternal battle between Good vs. Evil. For the forces of Good, there was Ainoquénatar, the king of the gods, and his two sons, Ainoatayón and Ainoneldëfaer. And the rest of all the Lesser and Minor Hierarchies of Gods behind them. Then their foes, the daemons, there was the First Rebel Môrherudae, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord, and his two lieutenants, brothers-in-arms Neuroûnlómë and Núrocaurërauca. And behind them were the Daemonic Host, all rebels, all fallen.

Somehow Randorn was able to pronounce the odd-sounding names, those strange inflections that had baffled her best efforts. He'd shown how the words were formed (and even in the flowery, ornate script he'd shown her they were utterly and completely alien), explained that these were words of one of Cerinia's long-forgotten languages, and told her that to render them in the ordinary, everyday speech without the inflections would make them incomprehensible: even the translations would lose meaning if one tried to translate them.

No matter how often he told the stories, there was that one group of stories that she always requested: the stories of the conflicts between the gods and the daemons. Of the First Battle, the Battle between the Powers, how Môrherudae was cast down into the Abyss with his followers; the Second Battle, the Rage of the Fallen, in which Cerinia was in danger of eternal destruction, and how it was saved by the First Men, of how they took up arms against the daemons and called for assistance from the gods, and cast down Môrherudae into eternal bondage; and then of the Conflicts between the Sons of Cerinia and of the Servants of Darkness, Môrherudae's lieutenants and their forces, those primeval battles that had raged before Cerinian civilization came about.

And then finally, a story of a prophecy of the End of the World, in which Môrherudae would escape his Chains, and rally all who served him to his banners, and march upon the heavens and Cerinia. It would end with the First Rebel being cast into a world of torment, to languish forever in his own fury, while the Sons of Cerinia would live, unfettered by any evil, in a new world filled with light.

That last one she asked for the most; it seemed the most exciting of them all, and yet so remote at the same time. But always, at the end of each one, Randorn told her that is was only a story, as belief in that religion had died out centuries ago as men started to look for the Truth and found it only in the Seven. She herself didn't look much inside _"Life and Knowledge" _but she knew it was true. There were stories in there, sure enough, but they just didn't seem that exciting compared with the myths of the old religions.

But that was when she had been younger, young enough to be awed by things far outside of her; and, in a sense, she still was awed, but not as she used to be. Those stories had become only shadowy recollections, dimmed by time; not even the books with the same stories could not invoke the sense of excitement she used to have when only a child. But then, she was growing, and that in itself, was exciting enough.

A crack of thunder brought her back to the present; a flash of lightning a moment later woke her up from the half-doze she'd slipped into. _Silly me, _she chided herself, _thinking of the past, and falling asleep out of bed. You silly girl. _Yet that was her body telling her that it was time to go back to sleep. With another look out the window as another clash of thunder and lightning filled the skies, she turned away and made her back to her little cot.

Suddenly she tripped over something. With a muffled cry she flew through the air, landing just short of falling on a reddish-brown sleeping vixen. Then there came a series of thuds behind her as whatever she'd hit topped to the floor. She held her breath as her heart pounded; but no one woke. Then, silently (forgetting that she was silent enough already), she got to her feet and looked for the thing that caused her to fall.

It was one of the bags of baggage; her's specifically. A clutter of things had spilled out onto the floor, barring access to the window. With an inward sigh she turned around and began picking them up. Her hand brushed across something hard, rectangular, and strangely heatless a little while later as she cleaned up the last of her things. Krystal closed her hand around it (it was small enough to be enfolded entirely in her palm) and brought it up to examine it.

It was a small, rectangular box with a circle of holes on one side. Underneath it was a transparent bar that had strange alien characters written inside it, and a single red line to the left. Underneath _that _was a small knob. Aside from these the only other features was a small flexible metal stick sticking up from the top, and a small button on the left side. And it didn't feel like anything she'd ever felt before. There was no sign it was earthenware, metal, wood, or stone. Odd indeed.

She turned it around and around, wondering what it was, and how it'd gotten into her bag. It was nothing she'd ever seen before, nor even heard of. Perhaps it was something Father had bought and had put in her bag for safekeeping? No, too unlikely, and too ludicrous to even suggest. Kurisutaru was definitely out of the question. She turned it over again, and this time was rewarded by a strange, teeny sound emanating from it. (Unbeknownst to her, her hand had touched the little button on its side and turned it on.) As it was, she had no idea how it worked or even what it was, and so she had no theories at all to its origin; to her mind, it was something like a toy, maybe even a magical object that had somehow mysteriously appeared in her bag.

"Wow," she breathed softly as she started to play with the knob on its front. To her delight (and continuing amazement) the teeny sound grew louder if she turned it one way, the little red line inside the transparent bar moving this way and that, and grew softer if she turned it the other way.

_"Theran?"_

She shrieked as the shrill, disconnected little voice barked out from it. She dropped it as if it was a poisonous snake, fur standing up on end as fight-or-flight instincts turned on, and scrambled back as far as she could from it, hitting the same cot she'd tried not to fall on. The reddish-brown vixen on it grumbled and turned over, mumbling something about "climbing trees." Krystal's breath came in short gasps as she stared at the little box, no longer wonderful and mysterious. The voice barked out the word again, stopped, then muttered something that sounded like an expletive (sounding like _"it"_) and went silent.

Krystal shivered as she stared at it. Nothing happened. The teeny sounds had disappeared, leaving it silent. She started towards it, then stopped, unsure if it would speak again. Nothing happened. She reached out and touched it. Nothing happened. Then, suddenly, Krystal's hand enclosed it and she threw it into her bag, the mouth of which had not been closed. Then she stowed the bag under her bed, still shaking, fur still on end.

She climbed into bed, keeping her eyes focused on the spot where she'd put the bag. _What was that thing? _she asked herself, as she laid down to rest, _and where have I heard that word before? _She'd never heard of that word before, and yet something in the back of her subconscious told her she had heard it before, and not too long ago. Still puzzling over it in her mind, she closed her eyes, slowly, for fear that something might happen at any second, and fell asleep.

Outside, the skies split with another crack of thunder and lit up with another brilliant flash of lightning. But the little blue vixen did not wake this time; she was exhausted by the events of the day, and the matter of the strange, talking box fled from her mind as quickly and silently as the wind.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~


End file.
